


The Convenient Husband

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Harlequin challenge, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, virgin!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long war has left the country impoverished and in disarray, and unfortunately for Lord Phil Coulson, his estate is no exception. An unexpected inheritance from a distant relative may just be what he needs to turn things around, but it comes with a strange stipulation: Phil must marry before his 35th birthday or he gets nothing. Determined to do what’s right for his people and with less than three months to find a suitable match, Phil asks an old friend for assistance, and he is soon introduced to Mr Clint Barton, a man with a mysterious past in dire need of help himself...</p><p>Written for the MCU Harlequin AU Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Convenient Husband

**Author's Note:**

> So, this happened... I should probably say that I've never actually read a Harlequin novel although I’ve read plenty of Harlequin fics (SGA, I’m looking at you!). Hopefully it fits. I figured you couldn’t go wrong with Regency AU, marriages of convenience and virgin characters. ;) 
> 
> I should also add that this isn’t a ‘real’ Regency AU, as it doesn’t take place in England during the Regency era, but during a similar period in some made-up country where homosexuality is widely accepted and so is gay marriage.
> 
> I don't think this needs any warning but if you have any questions or concerns, please let me know!

Phil knows the moment he crosses into his land. There is the old oak by the side of the road and the boulder shaped like a toad, and in the distance he can see the village with the manor beyond it. But even without those well-loved landmarks he thinks he would still feel it all the way to his bones: every time he returns, something inside him loosens and he can breathe a little easier. He is amongst friends here. 

He’s home.

However, this time the relief is clouded with foreboding. The Coulson estate lies within sixty miles of Asgard, and Phil has witnessed first-hand the toll of the war on the borderlands. He doesn’t expect his estate to be the exception but he still foolishly hopes he won’t be met by the scenes of desolation his time in the army – and SHIELD – has accustomed him to. 

Phil hasn’t been back in six years, not since his mother’s funeral, a too-brief visit before duty had called him back. The war had still been limited to the front lines then and the estate had been relatively untouched, if emptier than usual. Many had chosen to enlist and Phil remembers how proud he had been proud of them all. But he had been a young man then, still foolish enough to find war romantic. That sentiment is long gone, a result of too many men and women dying for what had eventually come to light as the manipulations of an arrogant and childish prince intent on seizing a throne for himself. Here, today, Phil feels tired and sombre in the face of so many people who lost their lives for the greed of one man, and while he will forever respect their sacrifice, he’s grown bitter over the fact that it had to happen in the first place.

Still, he tries to tell himself, it wasn’t all for nothing. The war is over and they have peace at last, the alliance secured by a royal wedding between the two neighbouring powers, Midgard and Asgard. It may have been achieved behind the scenes instead of on the battlefield, but Phil doubts it would have happened at all if some people hadn’t grown tired of all the bloodshed. If nothing else, he can feel pride in the fact that SHIELD had done its part in the negotiations, putting aside differences and distrust to interact with its counterpart and long-time enemy, the Red Room, on behalf of the two heirs. 

With Princess Jane and Prince Thor safely wed and quite enamoured with each other and the last remaining voices of dissent quieted on both sides – some more violently than others –, Phil had been able to ask Fury to release him from his duty. SHIELD’s work is never done, even in times of peace – Prince Loki has fled and will no doubt try again, and the magic he possesses which allows him to enslave minds makes him an always present threat –, but Phil also had a duty to his land and to his people that he could no longer ignore it. Seven days ago Fury finally agreed to let him go and Phil has been travelling ever since, first by coach until this very morning, when he found that he could not wait a moment longer and hired a horse at the inn instead, leaving his luggage behind to follow at a later time.

Phil has tried to brace himself for it, but as he rides further into the Coulson domain, the scars from the war hit him hard. There is nothing growing in the fields, the land cracked and dry, and as he gets closer he can see half-demolished and burnt buildings in the village. It hurts in a way getting stabbed in the back didn’t. This is his land and these are his people, and the responsibility that goes with that has been drilled into Phil from a very young age. Looking at his home, he can’t help feeling he’s failed somehow. 

_“I should have been there,”_ he finds himself thinking and ignores the rational part of his mind that insists he wouldn’t have been able to do anything if he had.

He makes himself ride through town first, half-expecting to be met with scorn from his people for abandoning them, but instead they appear genuinely glad to see him. They don’t stand at ceremony here, certainly not the older crowd who remembers Phil running through the streets at top speed before he was even put in breeches, and they come out to greet him and tell him he’s been missed. Their faith in Phil’s ability to make their lives better now that he is back is both humbling and terrifying, and while Phil doesn’t think he’s earned it – let alone deserves it –, he promises everyone he’ll get to work on setting things to rights immediately.

He is feeling buoyed up as he rides up to the manor but there too there are signs of fighting which dampen his spirits. But the house is still standing at least and that is all that matters. 

Someone must have run up from the village to let them know Phil was coming – he had sent a letter but he thinks he may have beaten it there, the post still isn’t very reliable these days – because what seems like the entire household is in the courtyard waiting for him with an air of barely contained excitement. They all come forward as one as soon as Phil has dismounted and he feels overwhelmed for a whole new set of reasons. He grew up with these people, and he’s missed them when he was away more than he ever missed his own parents. Maybe it’s not proper but Phil doesn’t care. Proprieties will reassert themselves soon enough when everyone remembers he is a man grown, the lord of the house, and not the little boy who sneaked into the kitchen to beg for sweets. For now Phil lets himself enjoy being surrounded by family and allows them to fret over him – he thinks he might need it as much as they do.

There are new faces and a few notably absent ones, but Phil finds Melinda easily enough. He waits ‘til people start dispersing to head back to their occupations and then makes his way to her. 

“Lord Coulson,” she says with a slight nod and at Phil’s pointed look amends it to: “Phil.”

“Melinda. It is good to see you.” The Mays have been the Coulsons’ stewards for generations, and Phil and Melinda caused a great deal of mischief growing up. Melinda had also been one of the first to enlist – to her father’s never-ending disappointment – but Phil had heard she had been discharged and had gone back to the family business, taking over for her father when he had retired. Phil doesn’t know the whole story but he remembers he had found her changed when he had seen her at his mother’s funeral. He had hoped time would heal whatever wounds the war had inflicted on her, but it doesn’t appear to have done so yet.

“Do you wish to begin now?” she asks and Phil smiles briefly. She knows him well.

“If you have the time.”

She inclines her head and gestures towards the house, but Phil has barely walked two steps in that direction before he is way-laid by the cook, Mrs Anderson, who looks him over and sagely informs him that she will send someone with tea and sandwiches. As Phil thanks her, he sees from the corner of his eye a young man detach himself from the lingering crowd and start moving towards them before a shake of Melinda’s head makes him settle down with a frown. Phil waits ‘til they’re inside to raise an eyebrow at her. 

“Was that the Ward boy?” he asks. The man had looked vaguely familiar, but that may have been the military bearing. After a while, all soldiers start to look the same.

“Not a boy anymore,” Melinda says and Phil has to bite back an uncalled-for joke. The two of them haven’t seen each other in a long time and the familiarity may not be appreciated. “He’s been helping out, we’ve had a few issues with bandits.”

Phil nods to himself, unsurprised. The countryside had been rife with them during the war and he supposes it would have been too much to ask for them to vanish into thin air in peace time. Bringing back order and safety will have to be one of their priorities.

“You should wash first,” Melinda says, cutting through his thoughts, and as Phil looks down at his dusty clothes, he can’t help but privately agree. But there is so much to be done and–

“Phil, it will keep for ten more minutes.”

He reluctantly agrees and they arrange to meet in the library shortly before Phil heads to his old bedroom. He will probably have to move into the master’s, he reflects absently, but he is in no hurry. Someone was thoughtful enough to bring water to his room and while Phil can’t do much about his clothes – what little he left behind won’t fit him anymore and his luggage won’t get here until later in the day – he can still take off his riding coat and gloves and dust his trousers as best as he can. Then he splashes some water on his face and neck and goes to meet Melinda.

As promised, there is tea and food waiting for him and Phil helps himself before gesturing at Melinda to open her books.

“Tell me,” he says and she launches into her report.

“We’ve lost maybe a third of our able men and women. The orphanage is full and we’re short-handed. Houses need to be rebuilt, fields need to be replanted and we need a new irrigation system. There is still food for now but there will be shortages soon. And the roads aren’t safe, especially at night, although the situation is improving – Ward is in charge of that, he can tell you more.”

Phil nods, chewing slowly as he takes everything in. They’ll need to tackle each issue separately later but for now the broad lines will do.

“What’s the most pressing problem?” he asks.

“Money,” she says without hesitation. “We’re in debt with all of our suppliers and most of them won’t give us credit anymore. We can’t buy crops or cattle, never mind stone and timber. The staff hasn’t been paid in three months.”

Phil barely hides a wince. He hadn’t thought it was this bad, although frankly he isn’t surprised. The Coulsons are an old Midgard family but they’ve never been particularly rich and his mother hadn’t been one to spend sparingly, especially after her husband’s death. Without Phil to advocate restraint and with the war on top of that, it’s no wonder it got to this point.

“I’ll talk to our creditors, see if we can work something out,” he says. They may say no to May but they’ll have a harder time with Phil – it’s the magic of the name. “We need a list of priorities.”

He grabs a quill, ink and a piece of paper and looks at May expectantly. She takes him through everything in painstaking detail and by the time they’re done the list is depressingly long. Phil waits until Melinda has left before he slumps into his chair, feeling slightly demoralised. 

He now knows exactly how much crops are needed, the amount of timber necessary to fix the orphanage’s roof and how many pigs Mrs Anderson would like in her backyard – among many other things. He even has the plans for the new irrigation system, designed by FitzSimmons and ready to be dug up at a moment’s notice. Phil hadn’t recognised the family name at first and it had taken him a while to realise Melinda was talking about Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons. It had seemed wrong somehow: the last time Phil had seen either of them, they had barely been in their teens, but according to Melinda they’re both very bright, and judging by their plans he tends to agree.

But this only highlights what they cruelly lack, which is a way of financing any of it. Phil has never had much cause to worry about money throughout his life, but putting what they currently have against what needs to be done makes the work appear daunting. He still has most of his pay from the army and SHIELD, having had little opportunity to spend it, but deep down he knows it will only help with the most pressing, and barely even that.

Still it’s a start. Maybe things will get better.

 

Six months later, things are not better. 

They are not worse either – which is something, Phil supposes – but they will be very soon if nothing changes and that is simply unacceptable. Phil is responsible for the well-being of every person who lives on his land, as was every Coulson before him, and he refuses to be the one who leads them to ruin. 

The letter comes on a Thursday. 

Phil is pouring over figures and estimations when it is delivered to him and he welcomes the distraction gladly, putting his work aside for a moment. He is expecting news from Fury, whose letters are always entertaining, but the penmanship is unfamiliar and he opens it with a slight frown.

The letter is dated from three years prior. It is no surprise it is only finding him now – in fact it’s a miracle it’s found him at all. From what Phil has gathered, it’s taken a long time to sort through the piles of undelivered letters amassed during the war in the backrooms of post offices everywhere and to make the post run with any kind of regularity again. What gives Phil pause is that it is signed by a solicitor from the capital claiming to represent his father’s first cousin who – they are deeply saddened to inform Lord Coulson – passed away just last month. Phil frowns and keeps reading with dread: recent experience has taught him well and while he can easily guess this will be about money, he simply cannot afford to settle the debts of some unknown relative at the moment, if ever. 

But the contents of the letter turn out to be something else entirely and Phil’s first impulse is to laugh incredulously. 

The man, a Mr Clark – born of a Mrs Elizabeth Clark, née Coulson, Phil’s grandfather’s younger sister –, had no other relative and left Phil the entirety of his estate, which is so considerable it makes Phil’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. But it’s the added clause that Phil must be married to someone suitable before his 35th birthday in order to receive his inheritance that truly astounds him. The solicitor seems almost apologetic as he explains that Mr Clark spent his entire life building his fortune, only to realise too late he had grown old and lonely. _“He wished that you marry,”_ it says, _“so you would be spared the same fate and always remember there is more to life than riches.”_ It’s a nice sentiment, if somewhat naïve, and one Phil would have appreciated more had it not be written by a man who didn’t know the first thing about him or his current situation. And while he would agree with it on principle, at this very moment ‘riches’ would certainly make life easier for a lot of people, himself included.

Phil sets the letter down carefully and tries to think. It may be a mistake or a hoax. After all, Phil can’t recall a Mr Clark ever being mentioned by his father, although the lack of title may have something to do with that – his father’s side of the family had always been rather intransigent about such things. But if the contents of the letter prove to be veracious, it may prove to be the answer to all of Phil’s prayers. With the Clark inheritance, he would be able to pay off their debts and buy everything they might need, now and for years to come.

There is only one problem though.

He turns 35 in three months. 

Phil is too much of a pragmatist to have ever believed he would marry for love and what he desires most of all out of marriage is companionship. He has only ever wished to find someone whose nature and disposition were compatible with his own, someone who would in turn grow to become a friend and partner to whom he could talk and entrust his estate. Phil has been told that makes him old-fashioned, but he remembers only too well what his own parents’ marriage had been like, each living in opposite wings of the manor and never addressing the other directly after they had secured an heir to pass on the family name. That is not something he has ever wanted for himself.

Then again, Phil has never seen himself as the kind of man to marry solely for material gain either. He has always considered himself too honourable for that and so for a brief moment he is tempted to throw the letter in the fire and pretend he never read it. 

But then he takes a look outside the window and he knows he can’t ignore it. The devastation caused by the war is still all too clearly visible and they are fast reaching the end of their rope. They need that money to rebuild and Phil has too many people depending on him for their survival to allow petty considerations of his self-worth and happiness to get in the way. It matters little if he ties himself to someone he can’t bear to be around for the rest of his life – in the grand scheme of things, it will be but a small sacrifice, and one that he will gladly make.

If marriage is to provide his estate with financial security then he will swallow his pride and marry the first amendable person. The three months leave him very little time to find a ‘suitable’ spouse – whatever that means, although he’s got some idea –, assess their willingness and character and woo them properly, but there are other options available to him. After all, there are always people hunting for a title or looking to make a rich match, or even parents anxious to wed off-springs past their prime marrying age. Phil has always found those types of transaction distasteful, but if it gets him married under three months then so be it. At least in that respect, his upcoming inheritance will pave the way for him.

Mind made up, Phil stands and goes searching for May. At this time of the day, she usually practices with the newly reinstated guard – Ward’s idea, according to her, and not a bad one at that. In the past six months the roads have become increasingly safer and the number of thefts has gone down. Phil had trained with them at first but he had stopped when it became obvious his presence made most of the trainees uncomfortable. Not Skye though, who sees him coming and stops in the middle of the manoeuvre to wave.

“Skye!” Ward hisses, looking all kinds of mortified at her behaviour, but she ignores him cheerfully. She is new around here – she was caught stealing eggs and got to choose between work and punishment – but she’s adapting remarkably well.

“Skye, your form is much improved,” Phil tells her and she beams at him happily. “Melinda, if I may have a moment?”

Melinda nods and follows him to a more secluded spot where they can talk without being overheard.

“It appears I am to come into a rather substantial inheritance from my father’s side of the family,” he says, keeping the condition to himself. Melinda understands duty well enough but she doesn’t need to know. It is his burden to bear.

She arches an eyebrow at him. “Substantial?”

“More than enough to cover everything we might need.”

Melinda is too much in control of herself to show any outward sign of relief at the news but the ever-present line of tension in her back and shoulders unclenches a little, and when she next blinks, her eyes remain closed for a heartbeat too long. That is enough to reinforce to Phil how necessary it is that he succeeds.

“I will travel to the capital tomorrow and see the solicitor,” he goes on. “I don’t yet know how long it will take, but it shouldn’t be more than a couple of months, hopefully less.”

“Where will you be staying?”

Phil thinks about it for a moment. He has given up his place in the city – it was an expense they could ill afford – but he still has friends he can impose on. In this particular matter, he thinks he might need Nick’s cool head and counsel more than any other – Jasper is too much of a romantic to be of any help, while Maria has no land and would not understand why Phil is trying so hard to save his. 

“I will be at Colonel Fury’s house. I’ll send word to him now and let you know if anything changes. In the meantime, I think we should get started on the new canal.”

Melinda gives a curt nod but she is smiling, and Phil has to resist the urge to take her arm and tell her everything is going to be okay. He will make certain of it.

 

The journey is long and tiring. It takes a week to reach the capital by coach, which Phil despises and tries to avoid as much as possible. But he’ll be expected to dress in accordance with his standing during this particular stay and his horse can’t very well be expected to carry his trunks.

The coach’s interior is dull and the inns they stop at all look the same, and so Phil has very little to keep himself distracted and his thoughts from turning to what awaits him. Despite his resolution to wait ‘til he knows more, he finds himself plagued with half-formed plans and possibilities, and by the time he reaches the end of his journey he can’t take it anymore. 

He heads to the solicitor’s office as soon as he gets to the city. The man, it turns out, is very real and very serious. He is also very surprised to see Phil, who doesn’t blame him. It’s been over three years since the man sent that letter, by now he probably assumed Phil would never come. But he rallies fast enough, confirming his inheritance will indeed be his should he marry in the next three months, and he and Phil have a brief but enlightening conversation on the matter. His relative appears to have been a rather unhappy man, having suffered from his mother’s choice in a husband which had led to her being shunned by the rest of her family. In an effort to prove them wrong, her son had become a skilled merchant, focusing only on his work and amassing great wealth over the years, only to be plagued by regrets late in life. The ‘suitable’ spouse is, as Phil had correctly guessed, anyone of noble birth – it seems Mr Clark wished to prevent Phil from repeating his own mother’s ‘mistake’ – and divorce is of course out of the question and would require the reimbursement of the inheritance in full. 

By the time Phil leaves the solicitor’s office, he isn’t sure whether he finds his late cousin extremely offensive or simply sad. He tries not to think about it too much – he won’t turn the money down either way and he doesn’t like what his sudden lack of scruple says about him.

Lost in thoughts, Phil makes his way to Nick’s house, where the butler at least seems to be expecting him. His letter must have arrived then, or maybe it was the luggage he had sent on ahead before he met with the solicitor that tipped them off. Either way Nick isn’t home, which is no surprise given the hour. 

Phil is in the middle of enjoying a fine supper when Nick arrives. Things at SHIELD must be slow – the man rarely leaves his office before dusk and it’s early still.

“You’re here early,” he comments. 

“It’s not every day that you pay me a visit,” Nick points out as he sits down in his own chair. Seconds later, a footman bustles in with a plate he lays down in front of him and Nick thanks him before waving him away, waiting ‘til he’s out of the room to ask bluntly: “Are you coming back to SHIELD?”

Phil shakes his head – this isn’t the first time Nick has asked and it won’t be the last. Maybe one day he’ll say yes, but now is not the time. There is still too much to be done, which naturally brings him to:

“It appears I must get married,” he says and Nick’s eyebrow shoots up.

“Excuse me?”

Phil summarises the situation he’s found himself in, glossing over his financial difficulties – a gentleman doesn’t discuss such things –, but Nick knows him and Phil can tell he reads between the lines well enough. By the time he’s done, the food is all but forgotten in front of them and Nick is frowning slightly.

“Have you considered asking a friend?”

Phil raises a wry eyebrow. “Are you proposing?”

Nick laughs. “I’m sure you would make it worth my while.”

Phil feels his lips curl up despite the situation. The truth of the matter is, he did consider it. Going to someone he already knows and likes and laying everything out on the table certainly has its appeal. But with divorce out of the question, he feels he would only be doing them a disservice. His friends all have prospects, a future, and Phil cannot ask them to give it all up so he may save his estate. He won’t drag them down with him. He doesn’t know what it says about him that he has little qualms about doing the same to a stranger, though hopefully he can finagle some mutually beneficial agreement. Besides, most nobles are accustomed to the idea of marrying a near stranger. Phil is just poised to make a great deal of money thanks to it.

“I can’t do that to them,” he says. 

Nick nods his acceptance and seems lost in thought for the rest of the supper. It’s only after the dishes have been cleared away and they’re both holding a glass of port that he speaks again.

“I believe I may have a solution for you,” he says and Phil gestures at him to go on, taking a fortifying swallow. “An ally of ours recently approached me with a dilemma of her own. It appears one of her friends needs to relocate urgently – family troubles, I believe, I don’t have all the details. I don’t think marriage was quite what they had in mind, but the friend would be safely tucked out of the way at your estate. Your taste still lies with men, I presume?”

Phil feels his face heat up at the question. “It does,” he says through gritted teeth. Sometimes he wished his friend wasn’t so blunt. “But it is of no matter.” They won’t share a bed – Phil has to draw the line somewhere in this whole charade and he won’t force himself on someone who doesn’t want him, someone who’s already done him a favour by agreeing to marry him.

“Well, whyever not?”

“That will be between myself and my spouse, if you don’t mind.”

Nick shrugs and tosses back the rest of his drink.

“Come on, then. There is someone we need to see about getting you a husband.”

Phil swallows his port the wrong way and starts coughing. “Now?” he sputters but Nick’s already going for his coat and Phil has no choice but to comply.

He follows Nick’s lead as they walk through backstreets and unlit alleys until they find themselves in front of a non-descript house in a non-objectionable part of town. Nick knocks once on the door and a suspicious-looking footman with only one arm shows them in without commenting on the lateness of the hour. It’s obviously not the first time Nick’s been there because the footman disappears without providing further assistance and Nick moves confidently through the house, heading straight to what turns out to be a drawing room.

The woman waiting for them is obviously the reason for all the secrecy, her identity as unmistakable as her red hair, and Phil has to resist the urge to go for his weapon.

“I believe you two know one another,” Nick says with a grin – the bastard appears to be thoroughly enjoying himself – and Phil gives a tight nod in acknowledgement.

Of course he knows her. Catching her had been SHIELD’s top priority for years. Phil had come close once, but there is a reason why the Black Widow is to the Red Room what Nick Fury is to SHIELD and she had slipped away. But just as war had made them enemies, necessity had made them allies and so after years of trying to kill or capture each other’s top operatives, SHIELD and the Red Room had found themselves working together to bring peace to their countries. It hadn’t been easy but they had managed it in the end with spectacular results. Phil is not surprised to find Fury and the Widow still working together. They are both legendary in their own rights and as a team they must be unstoppable.

As the silence lengthens, the woman stands and offers Phil a slight nod.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she says, and Phil only hesitates for a split second before bowing back stiffly.

“Phil Coulson.” 

She smiles. “I know who you are, of course, Lord Coulson.”

Well, yes, _of course_. Phil however hadn’t known her name until now – if Natasha Romanoff even _is_ her real name. Unlike SHIELD, the Red Room’s agents operate solely under call signs and pseudonyms, a habit no doubt born of too many years of infighting, blackmail and reprisals. Until Romanoff had overthrown her predecessor, the Red Room hadn’t been a very safe place for anyone. 

Why she is choosing to introduce herself _now_ is unclear, but the Widow is a known manipulator and Phil doesn’t doubt she has an ulterior motive. Allies or no, he must tread lightly here.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” She directs the question at Fury, and Phil takes the opportunity to study her. She is beautiful and it’s easy to see how she could combine her obvious charms and her guile to extract information out of whomever she wishes. And yet under her smooth exterior, there is an undeniable air of danger that keeps Phil on edge, keenly aware that he’s only seeing what she wants him to see.

“Coulson here is in need of a husband,” Nick informs her before summarising Phil’s situation. It makes Phil’s cheeks burn in embarrassment to hear his misfortunes discussed so with a complete stranger, but Romanoff shows no surprise to any of it and he wonders just how well informed she is. 

“And you come here seeking to kill two birds with one stone,” she says thoughtfully, looking Phil over as though seizing him up. 

Nick shrugs, unconcerned.

“I suppose the Colonel has told you about my friend’s troubles?” she asks Phil.

“Very little,” he admits.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to disclose much more to you – it is not my story to tell. And what I _can_ tell you you’ve probably guessed already. As you know, many of our nobles opposed our prince’s union with the Midgard princess. His family was amongst those who did. He however chose to side with us and now his brother wants him dead. It isn’t safe for him to remain in Asgard, but marrying you may just provide the security and distance he needs”

“I see.” The story makes sense, but what doesn’t is why Romanoff doesn’t simply have the offending brother killed. She’s certainly proved herself ruthless enough in the past, and many of the most vocal opponents to the alliance on either side of the border had been disposed of with an arrow through their heart, courtesy of the elusive Hawkeye. Not that SHIELD hadn’t done its fair share of manipulation and blackmail, along with a few highly publicised assassinations and mysterious disappearances. Duke Stane’s death and Prince Loki’s desertion had put the last of the opposition to rest, but Phil is not surprised to hear there are still some unhappy with the peace, and he can only speculate that the brother owes his continuing survival to the man they’re now discussing. That, however, only raises more questions than it answers, and he wonders just who his would-be husband is, for him to make such demands and the Black Widow to agree.

“You’re wondering why his brother isn’t dead already,” Romanoff says, startling him out of his thoughts, and he inclines his head.

“My friend asked me to spare him, which should give you some idea as to the kind of man he is.” She pauses for a second and then: “Shall I inquire if he is willing?”

Phil allows himself a moment of reflection. “Is he dangerous?” he has to ask before he gives an answer. He is fully aware they are probably discussing a Red Room agent and Phil has few illusions about his line of work and the people it attracts. Some do it for duty, some because it’s what they’re good at, and others still because they enjoy killing and it gives them a sanctioned outlet for their urges. If her friend is the latter, the chances that he’ll stop killing once returned to civilian life are very slim and Phil refuses to put his people at risk by bringing him into their midst.

“To your dependants? No more than you,” Romanoff says and Phil has no choice but to take her word for it.

“Very well. You may discuss the matter with him.”

Romanoff nods. “I’ll send word once I have.”

They take their leave soon after and Phil tries not to feel like he’s just signed his death sentence.

 

Romanoff’s letter doesn’t come the following day or the next or even the one after that. 

So Phil attends card games and balls and goes to bed at night feeling more and more dispirited. He had foolishly hoped he would hear back from her immediately and that the matter would be settled definitely with little fuss. Instead the fact that he is looking for a spouse has somehow become common knowledge and some parents shamelessly throw their sons and daughters at him in hope of a good match. They all seem wide-eyed and much too young to Phil. It’s not that he is old but the war and the past six months have worn him out, and he finds it hard to interact with naïve debutantes. 

Eight days go by before he hears from Romanoff and by then he is almost looking forward to it. At least that’s a match he could live with, something beneficial to both parties and to someone who won’t ask him to describe what being in a battle is like.

Phil gets the note at breakfast, and it is brief and to the point. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton will call on him at his earliest convenience to discuss matters further. 

_Clint Barton._

The name is familiar and sparks a memory that helps put Romanoff’s story of family strife into context. Lord Barton had been of the warmongering kind and as such opposed to any truce between their countries. He had also been an old man and his death in his sleep two years prior had been deemed natural, although Phil had always suspected poison. It had made little sense at the time, poison a far cry from arrows and much more to Widow’s taste, but why would she have bothered with a minor noble when she usually sent Hawkeye to make her point for her? Phil had never been able to figure it out but knowing what he does now, he has to wonder if the apparent friendship between Clint Barton and the Black Widow is what had her stay Hawkeye’s hand, allowing the Lord a death gentler than many others’ – just as it appears to have now spared his oldest son, Charles, the current Lord Barton.

As for Clint Barton himself, Phil knows very little about the man apart from his unfortunate set of relatives. If he remembers his SHIELD’s file correctly, Barton had been in the army at some point, and Phil wonders briefly if they have ever faced one another on the battlefield – or, worse, if Barton’s face has ever graced a SHIELD’s arrest warrant poster. 

Still, the fact that the man seems to bring out a softer side of the Black Widow is something. Or is it? She had been fiercely protective of her people when SHIELD had demanded she hand over Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier for reparation back when the negotiations had first started. Since Fury had been just as reluctant about handing over Hill and Phil himself, they had all walked away with a blanket pardon for their operatives’ acts during the war instead. It would have included Barton if he was in the Red Room, so at the very least Phil won’t have to worry about his potential husband being carted away to prison.

Then again, maybe Phil is wrong and Barton was never in the Red Room to begin with. Maybe he and Romanoff really are just friends – hell, maybe they are lovers, not that it’s any of Phil’s business.

He’s jotting down a quick reply saying he’ll be available in the afternoon when Fury comes into the dining room.

“You received word?” he asks, nodding at the open letter in front of Phil while getting himself some coffee and Phil pushes it in his direction. 

Nick scans it quickly and quirks an eyebrow.

“Barton, uh?”

It’s Phil’s turn to raise a questioning eyebrow. “You know the man?”

“Never met him,” Nick says. Of course that means little in their line of work, and Nick elaborates: “Never heard _of_ him either, from SHIELD or Romanoff.”

Phil nods absently, hiding his slight disappointment at the fact that he won’t have any more information going into this meeting. Retired or not, he likes to be prepared.

“Why don’t you come in with me and see for yourself?” Nick offers, slapping Phil on the arm. He is grinning and Phil rolls his eyes at him. As far as the man’s attempts to lure him back to SHIELD go, this one is hardly subtle. Still, not a bad idea.

“Thank you, I think I will.”

SHIELD hasn’t changed in the time Phil has been away. The people however have: there are many unfamiliar faces in the hallways and only a few he recognises. Nick escorts him to the record room and then heads on to his office, leaving him with rows upon rows of leather-bound papers. Locating the Barton family file is easy but the file itself is disappointingly light: Fury was right, there is nothing in there that Phil didn’t already know, the focus of the reports the late Lord and his oldest son. 

Phil pushes it aside with a disappointed sigh, and with nothing more to do but wait for his appointment that afternoon, he decides to stop by his old office, not at all surprised to find it still stands empty – Nick can be a sentimental bastard at times – before trying to locate Jasper and Maria. They’re not in and since they hadn’t said anything about going on assignment when Phil had seen them a couple of days earlier, he assumes they must be in a meeting. Not that he would blame them if they hadn’t told him the whole truth. He doesn’t work for SHIELD anymore and he should expect being kept out of the loop. 

Feeling uncharacteristically listless, Phil decides to go before he starts feeling even sorrier for himself. He chose this, he reminds himself. He left to rebuild his estate, and while he can’t regret it, he won’t lie to himself as well and pretend a part of him doesn’t miss SHIELD. 

As he reaches Fury’s office, intent on taking his leave, Phil catches a glimpse of Romanoff’s footman of all people disappearing around the corner. For a split second he wonders what the hell the man is doing here, and then he feels incredibly slow for not making the connection sooner.

“You have both the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier working for SHIELD?” he hisses at Fury as soon as the door has closed behind him.

“Working _with_ SHIELD,” Nick corrects him with a wince that speaks of many arguments on the matter.

There are things Phil wants to say, questions he wants to ask, but what comes out is:

“What about Hawkeye?” 

Nick shakes his head. “From what Romanoff tells me, he is retired. Besides, if he were here, don’t you think it would have been the first thing I would have said to get you to come back?”

Phil glares at him, feeling more than a little affronted by that. Granted, there had once been a time when he had been mildly obsessed with Hawkeye but anyone who likes a good puzzle as much as Phil does would understand the appeal. Hawkeye had always been a mystery. He had first made himself known for his marksmanship – the man made impossible shots under impossible circumstances and Phil hadn’t been able to find a single record of him ever missing a target. His kills had been quick and clean, and even at the height of the war when he had been costing SHIELD many lives, Phil had fantasised about turning him. But that would have required finding him first. Hawkeye had been a ghost, and although Phil had devoted many hours to trying to figure out his identity, he had made little to no headway. To be fair, he hadn’t had much to go on apart from the man’s love of the bow and the wild rumours that surrounded him. Some said he had been trained in a circus, others that he had been Prince Loki’s attack dog at some point during the war – there were even some who insisted he didn’t exist at all, that he was many men instead or one of the many personae of the Winder Soldier or the Black Widow herself.

Phil had always been convinced Hawkeye was real, even when more pressing matters had eventually dragged his attention away from the archer. Even today he likes to ponder the subject whenever he has the time. If the man is retired, then it may be time for Phil to find a new hobby. They all deserve some peace, after all.

“I’m going back,” he says instead of asking what new information Fury may have gathered about Hawkeye from Romanoff. Progress. “I will see you tonight.”

“Good luck,” Nick says sincerely and Phil nods his thanks. 

He will need all the luck he can get.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon are a blur, and Phil can barely stop himself from pacing in the drawing room. He feels uncharacteristically anxious about the upcoming meeting despite repeatedly reminding himself that nothing may come of it. Just because Barton agreed to meet with him doesn’t mean he’ll be amendable to marriage – though it’s a pretty blatant sign that he might, his brain insists. Phil may very well be about to meet the man he will pledge himself to and spend the rest of his life with. 

He doesn’t feel ready for this.

By the time the bell rings, Phil has retreated behind a mask of control and calm reminiscent of both his Agent Coulson persona and his father, a parallel he finds rather unfortunate. He doesn’t have the time to consider the implication, however, as Romanoff and a man are being shown into the room, and Phil bows to her automatically.

“Lord Coulson, meet Mr Clint Barton,” she says and her companion steps forward, bowing at Phil who returns the gesture while Romanoff smiles serenely at them.

The introductions out of the way, Phil offers them seats and then asks the maid for some tea. This gives him some time to gather his thoughts and study the man before him. 

Clint Barton is no wide-eyed ingénue, that much is obvious. Oh, he’s younger than Phil – by seven or eight years, if he were to guess –, and he would probably appear younger still from his looks alone were it not for the way he holds himself, which speaks of a world-weary man who has already seen too much. He is well-built, with broad shoulders and strong arms that are obvious despite his clothes’ best efforts to hide them. He has arresting eyes that seem to see more than they should, but the rest of his face is plain and a little dour. He appears to be scowling at the room, though whether that is by disposition or because of the circumstances, Phil doesn’t know. He hopes it is the latter. 

Phil looks away. It doesn’t matter if he finds the man handsome or not. He meant what he told Nick: he has no intention of bedding him. He glances at Romanoff and then back at Barton, and suddenly finds himself being appraised as frankly as he just assessed Barton. He wonders briefly what he sees – a tired and middle-aged country lord at the end of his rope, no doubt – and has to fight back a blush. 

It’s only fair, he supposes. They all know why they are here. 

They make small talk over tea – or rather Romanoff does, asking Phil questions about his estate which he is happy to answer, grateful for the conversation. Barton on the other hand doesn’t say much, and when Phil tries to engage him in an effort to try and gauge his character, he doesn’t have much success.

Eventually the discussion turns to the subject at hand, but again Barton barely says a word, seemingly content to let Romanoff speak on his behalf. It puts Phil on edge and he starts to wonder if she holds some sway over him – if maybe Barton doesn’t want to be here at all. Phil has made his peace with marrying for his own gain but he won’t stoop so low as to wed someone who is being forced into it through blackmail or some other form of coercion.

“May I have a moment with Mr Barton?” he asks bluntly. It is not proper for them to be alone, but then this is hardly a normal courtship. Still, Barton looks momentarily startled by the question, glancing at Romanoff with a frown, but she merely seems amused.

“Of course,” she says, rising gracefully and exiting the room. 

Phil has a moment of misgiving at allowing the Back Widow free range of Fury’s home before he reminds himself the man would never have anything sensitive at the house. So he refocuses on Barton, who appears to be holding himself even more stiffly than before. Phil hadn’t thought it was possible.

The silence stretches between them, the tension increasing tenfold, and Phil belatedly realises Romanoff wasn’t just making things smoother for Barton.

Damn it.

But he is the reason why they are here in the first place and so he braces himself and soldiers on.

“I am aware Miss Romanoff explained this to you already, but if you don’t mind I would like to go over it again.”

Barton nods and Phil launches into a tale he’s becoming increasingly accustomed to telling. He is brutally honest, leaving nothing out, but if anything that seems to steady Barton who relaxes slightly.

“You would have a monthly stipend to use as you see fit, and of course I wouldn’t demand that you fulfil any marital duties,” Phil concludes with. “You’ll be free to seek companionship elsewhere should you wish to do so – I only ask that you be discreet. And when I adopt an heir, I would ask that you be kind to them as well.”

“Of course.” Barton looks relieved and Phil wonders if he’s even attracted to men – not that this is any of his concern. This is strictly a business agreement.

“May I ask why you’re entertaining the idea in the first place?” Phil asks. Barton is young, not bad looking and of good standing. He could marry someone else – or not marry at all and gain independence from his brother by finding work. SHIELD would have him if Romanoff asked, no doubt.

“Why, my Lord, you’re about to become very rich. Surely that makes you a very good prospect,” Barton says, sarcasm slipping through in his tone, and Phil resists the urge to quirk an eyebrow at that. It’s the first sign of personality Barton has shown since this meeting began and he’d like to see more.

“You hardly seem the type to marry for money,” he retorts and gets a fleeting smile for his effort before Barton turns sombre again.

“My brother wants me dead,” he says and there is grief in his eyes at the words. “I can’t stay in Asgard, his influence is too great there. He controls my assets and I have no money and but few skills that would recommend me for employment. Since I am tired of fighting, marriage seems like a good option. What you are proposing suits my needs.”

“So you _are_ amendable to the idea?” Phil asks, just to be certain.

“I am,” Barton says and despite the words he looks as much at a loss as Phil feels.

Phil… well, Phil is relieved. He may come to regret his decision one day but for now his estate is safe. He has secured a wedding to a man who meets his cousin’s requirements and although he knows next to nothing about him, Barton appears to be a reasonable man. That is more than Phil had dared to hope for. Should he go down on one knee and propose properly? Or do Barton’s words suffice? In the end he settles on: 

“We are agreed then? We are to be married?”

Barton nods. “We are.”

They stare at one another, both unsure on how to proceed from there, until a discreet knock comes to their rescue. It’s Romanoff and she scrutinises them before asking:

“You have come to an agreement, then?”

“Yes.” It’s Barton who answers and she smiles again, looking pleased. 

Phil tries not to think too much about why that is. If he does, he’ll start wondering why she is so invested in this marriage. That way lies madness, he decides.

 

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of activity and Phil is swept in despite his best resolutions not to be. There are documents to be drawn, a licence to be purchased, arrangements to be made for their marriage banns to be read and a clergyman to be found to marry them. Then Phil realises he forgot the rings and there are suddenly jewellers to visit, all with an overwhelming selection to choose from and vaguely disapproving eyes when he settles on simple, plain wedding bands. Who knew getting married was so time consuming?

Meanwhile he and Barton appear together at various public engagements under the pretence of courting. Romanoff was the one to suggest it, either in an attempt to preserve both their reputation and give some legitimacy to their marriage or to encourage them to get to know each other, Phil doesn’t know. It’s awkward and mildly uncomfortable at first but it does have some merit, and while they don’t really talk, they eventually grow more at ease in each other’s presence.

A month after he first met Barton, they both stand in front of a clergyman with Fury and Romanoff at their sides. They say the words and exchange rings and sign the register. And they are married.

Phil spends the afternoon with the solicitor, finalising the last of the paperwork. He’s met with the man regularly over the course of the past weeks and the transfer of his cousin’s assets to him goes as smoothly and quickly as possible. By the evening he is both wed and rich and thoroughly unprepared for either. He and Barton take to their respective bedchambers for their wedding night without further comment, and they leave for Phil’s estate the following morning.

The travel is long and unpleasant. All the progress they had made during their courtship seems to have vanished: Barton is closed-off and guarded, resolutely staring out of the window and avoiding Phil’s eye. Phil can hardly blame him – they are leaving the neutrality of the capital to land them squarely in Phil’s territory, away from Romanoff and the support she represents. He tries to ease Barton’s mind but what little conversation they manage is stilted and Phil never quite manages to engage the man.

By the time they reach his domain, Phil is more than ready to see the end of the coach’s interior and – uncharitably – of Barton’s dour face. There is still one matter he would like to raise, however, and he isn’t sure how to breach the subject. He has written to Melinda to inform her about his upcoming wedding, of course, and she had dutifully sent the household’s congratulations back so they know to expect Barton. Still:

“I would beg a favour of you, if I may,” he says and Barton glances at him. It’s almost a shock to have those eyes focused on him again after a week of avoidance. “Could we keep the real reasons for this wedding between us?”

Barton raises an inquisitive eyebrow. He is curious but he doesn’t ask, and Phil is grateful. The truth is, his people would want more for him than this sham of a wedding whose sole goal was to secure their future. He doesn’t want to add to their burden or, worse, have them blame themselves for Phil’s situation. Nor does he want to disappoint them – he’s sacrificed many of his ideals for the sake of this gold and he doesn’t want them to feel ashamed to call him their Lord.

He won’t be able to fool all of them but he would spare those he can.

“Shall we say we met last year during the wedding festivities and began courting then?” Barton offers, his voice a little rusty from disuse.

Phil nods, relieved beyond words. “Thank you.”

“Do you wish people to believe we’re in love?” Barton looks thoughtful, and for a moment he appears softer, approachable. Phil feels a spark of hope inside him – maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

He gives Barton’s question some thought before shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary. But if we could appear to be friends…”

Barton inclines his head briefly and Phil nods his thanks again.

“We will be there shortly,” he adds and turns back towards the window.

Not long after, they’re pulling into the courtyard. From the looks of it, the entire household and most of the village are there to welcome them home. They’re eager to catch a glimpse of Barton and Phil can’t say he blames them. After all, it would be well within Barton’s power to make their lives more difficult. For a second Phil worries he should have brought the subject up with him beforehand – if there is one thing he won’t tolerate it’s his staff being abused. From what little he’s been able to observe, Barton doesn’t appear to be that kind of man or to insist on formalities, but Phil is aware most nobles would object to the way he rules his house. And while his people are nothing but proper with visitors, Barton is now part of the family and they may be more informal with him than he is used to. Phil will have to keep an eye on the situation and mediate if he has to.

Although the staff keeps a respectful distance, Barton appears overwhelmed, his eyes darting around constantly. He remains by Phil’s side, closer than he’s ever been, and Phil can feel the heat of his body through their clothes. It’s distracting.

Thankfully he can always count on May to diffuse a situation. She must have recognised a fellow soldier in Barton and his unease with the crowd because she directs the footmen to carry their luggage to their rooms and asks the housekeeper to send tea to the library. With a glare she sends everyone else scattering back to their daily tasks, and as the courtyard empties, she steps forward to greet them.

“Melinda,” Phil says with a smile he hopes isn’t as forced as it feels. “May I present you my husband, Mr Clint Barton. Barton, this is Melinda May, my steward.”

“How do you do, ma’am.” Barton nods stiffly, but already he looks less tense than he did a minute ago.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Barton. My Lord, –” she looks at Phil, who raises an eyebrow at the address – apparently Melinda doesn’t know what to make of Barton either and is playing it safe, “– I have several urgent matters that require your attention if you are available.”

“Of course. I will get Mr Barton settled and come find you.”

She disappears back into the house and they follow at a more sedate pace, Phil showing Barton to his bedchamber so he can freshen up. They have adjoining rooms, with a connecting door that locks on both sides, but whoever prepared the rooms has left it wide open. They hover on their respective side of the threshold as Phil apologises for having to leave him to his own devices so soon.

“Feel free to explore the house and grounds,” he says. “The evening meal is usually served at six, I will introduce you the staff then. There is tea in the library, don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.” 

“Thank you.” 

Barton closes the door between them and Phil heads off to meet Melinda. For a moment he feels guilty about leaving Barton alone but the thought quickly fades as he is distracted by all the things he must attend to. There is work to be done.

This sets a pattern for the next few weeks. Phil barely sees his husband, jumping head first into all the projects they had put aside due to lack of funds. He’s busy, spending most of his time with Melinda, and even when he is with Barton, his mind is elsewhere. The man however is true to his word, keeping up the pretence that they know – and like – each other better than they do. He makes a point of eating both breakfast and the evening meal with Phil, and always asks small questions the on-going repairs. Phil doesn’t make it easy for him, too consumed by everything that requires his attention to play the attentive husband. 

By the time they have dealt with the most pressing matters and Phil has some time to reflect on his behaviour, he feels rather contrite. He has left Barton to fend for himself ever since they’ve arrived and has made no effort whatsoever despite being the one to insist they appear friendly in the first place – truly, Phil wouldn’t have blamed Barton if he had given up on the charade altogether, and the fact that he hasn’t is all in his honour. Phil’s honour, on the other hand, is leaving much to be desired: at the very least, he owes his husband the most basic courtesies and being busy is no excuse to ignore the man or not to ensure he has settled in his new life. Barton is a grown man, yes, but he’s still an outsider. Peace or no, everyone here is well aware that he fought on the other side of the war and that combined with his sourly disposition cannot have made him any friends. 

Now that his workload has been reduced to something manageable, Phil resolves to remedy to the situation immediately. But Barton is nowhere to be found and so Phil is reduced to enquiring quietly after his husband with his staff. To his surprise, he hears much fondness in their voices when they talk about him. In the short time since he’s been here, Barton seems to have endeared himself to the household – Mrs Anderson seems determined to fatten him up, half the housemaids blush when his name is mentioned and Ward even seems impressed by his skills. They are all more than happy to tell Phil how Barton spends his time: he’s been out and about every morning, exploring the grounds on his own. How he spends his afternoon they don’t know, though some have seen him down at the orphanage once or twice. 

Phil… well Phil has no idea who this man they’re describing is. It certainly doesn’t sound like the man he interacted with in the capital, although he’ll grant that those were hardly the best of circumstances. He doubts _he_ made such a good impression then – though he probably hasn’t made a better one since either, something he will have to correct. At least he can stop worrying about how Barton will get along with the staff.

The next morning, instead of gulping down his coffee and grabbing some toast to take with him as is his usual custom, Phil remains at the table and observes the odd dance between Barton and the footman who’s attending to them this morning. The man keeps slipping more food into Barton’s plate – on the cook’s orders, no doubt – and Barton clearly has no idea how to ask him to stop. There is something oddly bashful about him as he seems both pleased by the attention and clueless as to how to deal with it, and Phil finds himself smiling. That is, of course, when Barton realises Phil is watching him and he closes off again, looking a little wary.

“I have to check on the progress of the new canal this morning. Would you like to accompany me?” Phil asks hesitantly, suddenly aware of just how worse he’s made things between them.

Barton appears taken aback by the offer and for a moment Phil thinks he is going to decline, but instead:

“I would, thank you.” He sounds just as uncertain as Phil, but at least it’s a step in the right direction.

Phil tries his best to engage the man as they walk to the site, pointing out areas of interest and on-going projects. He doesn’t think he has much success in his endeavour: Barton is as guarded as ever but he does listen and appears interested, and so Phil keeps a running commentary on the scenery. It is still a relief to reach the site, and Phil unconsciously expects Barton to follow as he goes looking for Melinda, but to his surprise the man heads towards FitzSimmons instead. They both look overjoyed to see him and start talking at once. Phil is too far to hear what they’re saying but it’s clear this is not the first time they’ve met.

“He’s been full of suggestions. Very quick-sighted too,” Melinda tells him, appearing at his elbow.

“You knew about this? Why didn’t you say anything?” Phil asks, feeling irrationally irritated. Why is it that everyone seems to know his husband better than he does, when Phil can barely get two words out of him?

“He’s your husband,” she points out. “I thought you knew.”

 _‘Well, I didn’t,’_ Phil bites back at the last moment. It sounds much too petulant even in the safety of his own mind. He doesn’t fool Melinda, however, who frowns at him. 

“Phil, what’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” he sighs. “We’ve just been so busy lately I haven’t spent much time with him.” Which is the truth, if only a sliver of it.

She studies him thoughtfully but thankfully doesn’t press the matter further.

“I’m here if you need me,” she says and he nods his thanks.

On the other side of the trench, Barton laughs and ducks his head, and Phil does not grit his teeth. 

Much.

 

Armed with renewed determination fuelled by curiosity and his own wounded pride – why is it that his husband prefers anyone else’s company to his? –, Phil establishes a new routine. Every morning, he asks Barton to accompany him to whatever requires his presence that morning. Barton always says yes. 

Phil worries at first that he will run out of topics of conversation, but the estate proves to be an endless subject and one Phil can talk about without fail. It helps them move past the awkwardness as Phil often forgets he is addressing his husband and finds himself talking animatedly about the work they’ve been doing as he would with anyone else. 

Introducing Barton to his land also reminds him just how much he loves his home. As focused as he has been on everything that was wrong, he almost lost sight of why he was fighting so hard for it. In the late summer the place is beautiful and Phil is anxious to have Barton share his enthusiasm. He may be his husband in name only but this is his home now too. Until Phil adopts an heir, Barton is set to inherit the place if anything happens to him and Phil doesn’t want him to take the responsibility lightly. 

They usually go their separate way in the afternoon, Phil to his correspondence and Barton to God knows what. Phil is curious but he doesn’t ask – the man is entitled to his privacy and doesn’t owe him an account of his movements, but Phil hopes Barton will choose to tell him one day. They usually gravitate back to each other towards the end of the day, both favouring the library, and more than one evening finds them reading in opposite armchairs, Barton with a book on birds and Phil with a historical account of some sort.

Within weeks, Phil has to admit he was wrong and everyone else was right. There is nothing dour and unpleasant about Barton – or rather, Clint – and Phil enjoys his company a great deal. Clint is smart and observant and – once he relaxes around Phil – amusingly irreverent. He makes Phil laugh and Phil doesn’t know who is the most startled the first time it happens, himself or Barton. 

Eventually, Phil starts thinking that this marriage may not have been such a bad thing after all.

But that is a dangerous thought and no sooner has Phil realised that he actually likes his husband that he starts noticing other things too – things he would rather have remained oblivious to. Things like Clint’s ridiculously fine figure when he’s dressed in clothes that fit him properly, the odd mix of supreme confidence and startling insecurity he carries himself with, or his gentleness with the one-eyed mutt he seems to have acquire and that follows him everywhere. 

The way his entire face lights up when he smiles, making him breathtakingly beautiful. 

It is now a mystery to Phil how he could have ever found Clint plain – he is anything but, to Phil’s never-ending dismay, though he’s reached the point where he honestly can’t say for certain that it would have changed anything if he were. It is bad enough that he is attracted to Clint, but it’s not just his body that makes lust stir in the pit of Phil’s stomach anymore – even if he does have quite a few lurid fantasies he only indulges in in the darkest of the night. No, everything about the man appeals to Phil on a deep, primal level and it is making him want things he had long since given up hope on.

It is unacceptable. 

_Falling for Clint_ is unacceptable. 

It has taken them _months_ to reach a stage in their relationship where they are perfectly comfortable around each other. They are friends, and Phil doesn’t want to ruin everything with his feelings. The irony of course isn’t lost on him: most people would rejoice in finding love with a spouse. But it’s those same feelings Phil once assured Clint he wouldn’t have to deal with and pressing his case now would be highly ungentlemanly. Clint has shown no inclination that he returns Phil’s affections and while he obviously enjoys his company, it does not mean he would welcome more. Hell, for all Phil knows Clint took him at his word and has a lover somewhere – maybe that’s where he goes every afternoon.

Phil works hard not to let his unwelcomed epiphany affect the way he behaves around Clint. He thinks he manages well enough for the most part – at least until other people get involved.

Part of Phil’s duty as a country lord is maintaining good relations with his neighbours. He is not overly fond of it, but he understands the necessity for it: they are all pretty isolated out here and, with such a limited social circle, have little choice but to rely on each other for distractions and gossip. Phil’s marriage had given him the unlucky honour of being the talk of the surrounding counties at the time, and the deluge of invitations that had followed their return from the capital had made the interest in his new husband perfectly clear. Phil had politely declined the earliest invitations, but six months in it is quickly becoming very rude of him to keep refusing. 

Once the harvest is out of the way, he finally decides to bite the bullet and throws a ball to introduce Clint to his peers. The invitations go out and soon the house is a frenzy of preparations that Phil tries to keep well away from. The ball is quickly turning into a ridiculous affair whose splendour makes Phil a little twitchy after months of spending sparingly. Unfortunately for him, his opinion appears to be required for everything, from the dances to the menu to dozens of other things. He cannot wait for it to be over.

“I hope you don’t love balls because we’re never doing this again. You’ll have to make do with the neighbours’,” he finds himself telling Clint one evening and the man laughs.

“The neighbours’ will be fine,” he says, still smiling, and Phil tries not to think about kissing him.

A month later, Phil is meeting distant acquaintances with a gracious – if fake – smile on his face. Clint however is nowhere to be found and Phil excuses himself to hunt him down, eventually spotting him lurking on the bannister, watching people go in from up high. Phil joins him and they stand side by side for a minute until Clint gives a sharp nod.

“Let’s do this then.”

Phil offers him his arm without thinking and Clint takes it before he can start worrying about it. They walk into the ballroom arm in arm, Phil’s smile a lot more real than it was five minutes ago.

Unsurprisingly, Clint is a big hit. Fresh blood is always welcomed and Clint can be very charming when he wants to be. In fact it’s like watching a completely different person and Phil has the uncomfortable sentiment that this is a Red Room operative at his best. It’s a chilling thought and it makes him wonder briefly how much of the Clint he’s been getting to know is actually real before reminding himself he can actually tell Clint’s been faking it all evening. Surely he would have noticed if he had been acting before too.

“I apologise, Lady Hand, Lord Blake, but my husband promised me this dance,” he hears Clint say and Phil jerks back to the present to find Clint looking at him imploringly. He did no such thing but lets Clint guide him to the dance floor anyway – it’s certainly not the first time someone’s used dancing to get away from nosy neighbours or Lord Blake’s astrology preaching. 

“Are you alright?” Clint asks him with a frown as the music starts again. “You seemed lost in thoughts.”

Phil doesn’t answer. “You’re good at this,” he says instead, and Clint ducks his head and shrugs. It’s such a Clint thing to do – and so at odds with the persona he’s been playing all evening – that Phil finds himself relaxing almost despite himself.

“My father enjoyed partying. I was forced to attend many balls when I would rather have stayed at home. I suppose I got used to it after a while. But this is nice.” He flushes a little as they spin together and Phil is suddenly very aware of how close they are. 

“It is,” he says with a small smile. 

“Although your neighbours are very meddlesome,” Clint adds teasingly.

“ _Our_ neighbours,” Phil corrects him and Clint’s blush darkens. It makes Phil want to do unspeakable things to him. 

They dance together for most of the evening. Phil has suddenly found the one socially acceptable way to hold Clint close to him, and now that he’s gotten a taste of it he is reluctant to let it go – let _Clint_ go. He feels like an adolescent with a crush at his first ball and it’s all ridiculously tame and proper considering they’re already married. They’re both wearing gloves and they’re not even touching skin-to-skin, and yet it still makes Phil’s heart beat faster and sends butterflies to his stomach.

Clint humours him, though whether he does it for the excuse it gives him to avoid making small talk with everyone else or because he truly likes dancing with Phil, Phil doesn’t know. Ultimately it doesn’t matter and Phil enjoys it all the same. He doesn’t expect Clint to return his inconvenient feelings. And if the way Clint stands just a little too close or looks at Phil from under his eyelashes gives him unreasonable hope, that is his problem and he will handle it. 

They may still have to attend the next ball all the same.

 

The New Year brings snow and freezing temperatures, putting an end to the relatively mild weather they had been enjoying. Clint still disappears every afternoon and Phil worries about him out there – he’s come home soaking wet enough times for Phil to conclude that whatever he’s doing is taking place outside, putting to rest his lover theory, and it’s very cold outside. 

One such afternoon, Phil is in his study enjoying the warmth of the fire and watching the snow fall out of the window. There is a half-finished letter in front of him but he is distracted with thoughts of Clint out there and hoping he’ll come in soon. It’s getting late.

When there is a knock on the door, he half-expects Clint, summoned by his reverie, but then Clint has stopped knocking on doors months ago.

“Come,” he calls out and David, one of the footmen, pushes the door open.

“My Lord, Lord John Garrett to see you,” he says and Phil finds himself smiling almost despite himself.

“Show him in, please.”

David steps aside, letting Garrett through before closing the door again, and Phil stands to embrace the newcomer warmly.

“Garrett, it is good to see you. What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighbourhood, figured I would stop and say hi, see how country life is treating you. It’s been a while.”

“It has.” Almost two years, by Phil’s count. Too long. “How are you?”

“Good, good. Busy, you know.” Phil nods. “What about you?”

“I got married.”

Garrett grins. “I heard. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Phil raises an eyebrow at that and he elaborates. “You always were married to your job.”

“Not _always_ ,” Phil says pointedly and Garrett laughs outright. 

“Indeed. But that was a long time ago.”

Phil inclines his head with a faint smile. Their dalliance had burned bright and fast, ending over a decade earlier. In the end, he and Garrett had made much better friends than lovers and they have maintained a comfortable and easy rapport over years. Seeing him now is like a breath of fresh air.

“So who is the lucky guy?” Garrett asks.

Phil opens his mouth to answer, which is when Clint comes through the door with a smile that freezes when he sees they have company. He hovers uncertainly in the doorway as both Phil and Garrett stand, and Phil frowns a little, wondering what the matter is. It quickly comes to him: he and Garrett are standing very close to each other – closer than is appropriate, really – and he thinks he understands where Clint’s hesitation might be coming from. But before he can do something about it, Clint strides forward to stand by his side in a proprietary manner. It puzzles Phil as much as it delights him. Garrett, on the other hand, only looks amused, which doesn’t help matters at all, and Clint scowls while Phil regains his senses and introduces them.

“Clint, this is Lord John Garrett, an old friend of mine. Garret, my husband, Mr Clint Barton.”

“Lord Garrett,” Clint says stiffly, almost challengingly, and Garrett smirks, ignoring Phil’s warning glance. 

“Mr Barton.”

“Will you be joining us for supper?” Clint asks, which causes Phil to raise an eyebrow. Clint couldn’t have sounded more uninviting if he had tried.

“Unfortunately I have made plans with Lady Hand,” Garrett says and Phil reads between the lines – that’s the SHIELD business he’s attending to ‘in the neighbourhood’.

“Some other time, then,” Phil jumps in before Clint can say anything else and make an already awkward situation worse. It’s lucky Garrett isn’t the kind of man to easily take offense.

“Maybe I’ll see you in the capital one of these days.”

Phil smiles gratefully. “Of course.”

Garrett takes his leave soon after and a leaden silence falls on the room until:

“That was very rude of you.”

Clint crosses his arms over his chest and moves closer to the fire. He looks cold and Phil notices for the first time his clothes are still wet from the snow. He swallows back his concern – they need to talk about this.

“Is he your lover?” Clint asks, the dare in his voice unmistakable. His abruptness surprises Phil who hadn’t expected him to go straight to the point, but that’s pure Clint. Always keeping him on his toes.

“No. Not for a long time.”

Clint blinks, apparently taken about by Phil’s candour. “Oh.” He ruminates on it for a moment and Phil gives him all the time he needs, trying to sort out his own thoughts. However, when his next words are “How long?” Phil has to draw the line.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“Right. Of course not,” Clint says bitterly. 

He makes to move past Phil to leave the room but Phil stops him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“Clint, what is this about?” 

Clint seems at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times and he won’t meet Phil’s eyes, and then out of the blue, he darts forward and presses his mouth against Phil’s, there and gone in a flash. The shock makes Phil go slack and he doesn’t remember to kiss back until Clint’s already pulling away, looking horrified with himself.

“Sorry, I… sorry,” he stammers and Phil can’t bear the thought that Clint would think he needs to apologise for wanting to kiss him, not when he wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone.

“Clint–” he starts to say but Clint flees before he can continue and Phil is left standing alone in the middle of the room, feeling both elated and a little dazed. 

Clint kissed him.

The feeling lasts a couple of hours – until Clint doesn’t come down for the evening meal.  
That has the effect of a cold bath and Phil loses most of his appetite. He must do something, he determines, and so he goes to Clint’s bedchamber and knocks quietly on his door. 

“Clint, are you alright?” he asks. “Can we talk?”

Clint doesn’t answer and eventually Phil has to accept that he simply doesn’t want to talk to him.

Things don’t improve from there.

Over the next few days, Clint studiously avoids him. Phil tries to talk to him a few times but Clint won’t discuss the subject and makes sure to never be alone in a room with him. Phil would press him but he is afraid of pushing Clint further away. 

The entire household seems to be holding their breath, shooting Phil accusatory looks whenever they can get away with it – they appear to have put Garrett’s visit and the strife between the masters of the house together and have somehow ended up blaming Phil for everything. It makes for a rather miserable atmosphere, and Phil doesn’t know how to fix it if Clint won’t talk to him. He isn’t even sure _what_ the problem is. He went through his own share of denial and self-blame when he realised he had feelings for his husband, is _that_ what is going on here? Is Clint scared or ashamed somehow? Does he believe Phil would reject his overture?

Six days in, the Black Widow shows up on their doorstep. She takes one assessing look at Phil – who wonders if she’s come all this way to kill him for some perceived slight – and sighs. Phil doesn’t think to question how she got here so fast or knew to come at all, and he isn’t surprised when the first thing she asks is where Clint is. When he admits he doesn’t know, she rolls her eyes and takes a seat, accepting the tea he offers her.

The truth is, Phil is relieved to see her. She at least will be able to talk to Clint. She won’t be on Phil’s side, he knows that already, but if she can get Clint to at least consider speaking to him again, then he will be forever grateful and agree to whatever Clint wants to do next.

“What has he done?” she asks, both fond and resigned, and Phil finds himself telling her about Garrett and the kiss and Clint’s sudden refusal to be in his presence.

She listens carefully and says nothing for a long time and so Phil waits, as though awaiting judgement.

“You’re in love with him,” she finally says and Phil almost chokes on his tea. 

He hadn’t expected _that_ to be the first thing out of her mouth. Then again he should have trusted the Black Widow to go straight to the heart of the matter. By the time he’s stopped coughing and he can look at her through watery eyes, he finds her still watching him shrewdly.

“I always thought love was for children, Lord Coulson – until I met your husband. You and I may not know each other very well but I trust you’ll believe me when I say you better know what you’re doing. Or you will answer to me.”

Phil stills at the sudden danger in her voice and they seize each other up until he nods and the tension in the room dissipates just as quickly as it first appeared.

“Good,” she says and takes another sip of her tea, the subject apparently settled. 

Phil would very much like to ask how sure she is that there even is something for him to potentially ruin, but he knows she won’t betray Clint’s confidence and so he refrains from doing so. Instead they sit in silence and drink their tea. It’s not as uncomfortable as Phil would have imagined.

Romanoff disappears with Clint as soon as he reappears. They spend long hours together, hours Phil isn’t privy too. She stays three days and sleeps in Clint’s bedchamber at night, and Phil has to resist the irrational jealousy that demands he put his ear to the connecting door and try to listen in.

When she leaves, Clint rides with her ‘til the edge of the estate. He looks better than he has in days and Phil is both glad and vaguely anxious about things going back to the way they were before Romanoff showed up. He tries to keep busy but he’s having a hard time staying focused, his mind constantly wandering off, and he almost jumps out of his skin when someone clears his throat behind him. 

It’s Clint. 

Phil gives him an automatic once-over – his face is still red from riding in the cold and he’s standing awkwardly by the door, but he’s here, in the same room as Phil, and Phil stands belatedly.

“I wish to apologise,” Clint says, looking nervous and determined and stupidly brave.

“It’s really not necessary,” Phil tries to tell him and Clint scowls stubbornly. 

“Of course it is.”

“Do you regret kissing me?”

Clint hesitates for a split second before squaring his shoulders. “No. But my behaviour afterwards was unacceptable.”

“Then consider your apology accepted.”

Clint gives him a small smile that flips Phil’s stomach. 

“May we talk further?” he asks tentatively. Clint nods and they both take a seat. “I have grown very fond of you over the past few months,” Phil confesses and watches as a blush overtakes Clint’s face before he ducks his head. “I would like to explore those feelings with you, were you so inclined.”

Clint doesn’t answer for a while, staring down at his clasped hands. He suddenly looks tense and unhappy and Phil has to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. He had thought things were taking a turn for the best but what if–

“I would like that very much,” Clint finally says quietly, interrupting his thoughts. “But there are things in my past, things I fear would deprive me of your good opinion forever if you knew.”

Phil frowns. “If this is about the Red Room…” he starts but Clint stops him with a shake of his head.

“It’s not that – it’s more than that.” He sighs and rubs his hands over his face roughly. “Come with me.” 

He stands and Phil follows him up the stairs until they get to Clint’s bedchamber. Phil has never been inside and it feels wrong to be there under these circumstances. 

Clint pulls a case from under his bed and opens it. Inside there are five or maybe six bows, one of which is obviously broken, and Phil feels his eyebrows rise towards his hairline.

“I always used a bow,” Clint says and Phil starts connecting the dots. “This one –” Clint points at the broken one. “– was mine when I was Prince Loki’s man. It broke when I was trying to kill Natasha.” He pauses there, staring at the bow, and Phil finds himself holding his breath until Clint goes on. “I spent the rest of the war trying to atone for what I did under his spell, but I know it will never be enough. So I keep it as a reminder.”

“You’re Hawkeye,” Phil says, dumbfounded, and Clint nods.

“You understand now.” There is something verging on despair in his voice and Phil wants to tell him it doesn’t matter, that it has no bearing on the way he feels about him, except… Except of course it changes things, but the problem is Phil doesn’t know _what_. He won’t do Clint the disservice of not giving the matter the attention it deserves, jumping into something he doesn’t quite understand only to realise he can’t handle it. And so for now he settles on a quiet:

“We should go back to the library.”

Clint takes a long time to pack up his bow and Phil waits, knowing instinctively that leaving now would be the worst thing he could do. He offers Clint his arm when he stands again and if Clint holds on a little too tight on their way down, Phil doesn’t comment on it.

He’s careful not to pull away from Clint over the next couple of days as he tries to make sense of everything. He daydreams about it and tosses and turns at night, but it doesn’t help him achieve any clarity. What he _does_ know is that his feelings for Clint haven’t changed, and yet at the same time he thinks they should have. Clint is an assassin who’s killed a great deal of people, some of them known to Phil – shouldn’t that mean _something_? What does it say about Phil if it doesn’t? What’s _wrong_ with him? 

It’s hypocritical of him, he knows. Deep down, he and Clint are no different: Phil did his fair share of killing during the war and the only thing separating them is the side they fought on. Would he still hesitate if Clint had been with SHIELD all along? He doubts it. 

Really, the question isn’t whether Phil can still love Clint knowing what he does now. It’s whether he can accept that he does. And the thing is, Phil may not know Hawkeye but he knows _Clint_. Clint is patient and gentle and smart and funny and he can be bull-headed and rash too but at heart he is a good man, one who has been making the best of the second chance at life the peace has given him – just like Phil.

After that, the decision is easy.

“May I accompany you?” he asks Clint that afternoon as he prepares to leave. 

Clint has stopped hiding he goes out to practice since he told Phil the truth. He has a bow slung over his back and he looks cautious even as he agrees. 

Phil follows him outside, straight into the woods on a meandering path through the trees only Clint seems to know. He can’t tell whether they’re heading into a particular direction or if Clint is waiting for some place to strike his fancy, but eventually he stops, glancing at Phil from the corner of his eye before proceeding to mostly ignore him.

He makes a few lunging passes to warm up and nocks an arrow.

It’s a revelation.

Watching Clint shoot is unlike anything Phil’s ever seen. There is a confidence and an economy to each of his movements, precise and sure and deadly. He makes it look easy and effortless and for a brief, selfish moment Phil wishes it weren’t winter so he could watch the muscles ripple through Clint’s arms and back as he draws and releases, draws and releases – but then he isn’t sure he could handle it: even fully dressed, the strength and pure beauty of Clint with a bow leave him breathless.

Phil loses track of how long he stands there watching, too overcome to notice the cold or the snow that’s slowly started falling again. Only when Clint stops and the spell is broken does Phil come back to himself, almost disappointed to see it end.

“That was beautiful,” he says, his voice rougher than usual. “You’re beautiful,” he adds before he can think better of it.

Clint stares at him, stunned and cocky all at once. He doesn’t look away when he stalks towards Phil but he does stop a couple of feet away, suddenly unsure. The storm in his eyes makes Phil’s heart trip in his chest and Phil steps forwards just as he reaches out and reels Clint in with his lapels. They meet halfway with more force than necessary, Clint’s hands coming up to brace himself on Phil’s chest, and Phil can’t tell who kisses who first this time because they’re both leaning towards each other as one.

The kiss starts slow, a mere brush of lips on lips that is soft and gentle and different from anything Phil has ever known. The thought makes him groan, the sound half-muffled by Clint’s mouth, and he deepens the kiss, some of his urgency seeping through. But Clint is clumsy and artless, almost like he’s never been kissed before, and while that possibility sends an unexpected thrill through him it’s also what makes Phil pull away. He fears that if he doesn’t, he will back Clint against the nearest tree or drag him down to the frozen forest floor and have his way with him right there, and Clint deserves better than that. Clint deserves everything in the world.

“We should go home,” Phil says a little unevenly.

Clint tenses, looking hurt for a split second before his expression smoothes over, and it takes Phil a moment to understand Clint took his words as rejection, which couldn’t be farthest from the truth. So he reaches out and grasps Clint’s hand, linking their fingers together. Clint relaxes instantly, smiling at him almost shyly, and together they make their way back towards the house.

The rest of the afternoon drags on, both of them unwilling to be parted and yet hyperaware of the other whenever they’re in the same room. When they retire to the library after the evening meal, Phil finds he can’t concentrate on the book in front of him, re-reading the same sentence over and over again until the words stop making any sense at all. Eventually he has to give up, closing the volume with a solid thump that makes Clint jump – something that would never have happened under normal circumstances.

They head upstairs at the same time, the strain between them rising as they approach their bedchambers. Phil’s door is first and he stops in front of it, Clint hovering behind him instead of continuing to his own as he usually does.

“Would you come in?” Phil asks, his voice so rough he has to clear his throat, and Clint nods jerkily.

The tension only increases inside Phil’s chambers. Clint is flushed and breathing a little too fast as they both stand there, waiting for the other to make the first move. Phil gives in first, crossing the space between them to kiss Clint again, and Clint melts against him as soon as their lips meet. Anxiety gives way to wonder, but Clint doesn’t seem any more experienced as when they first kissed and Phil can’t ignore it any longer. He pulls back, only to rush forward again for another kiss at the small sound of protest Clint utters. He loses himself in the feeling of Clint’s mouth, of his strong chest pressed again his – it’s a heady thing to know he’s wanted when he himself has wanted for so long, and his hips buck forward, pushing into Clint. It makes Clint gasp and Phil finally manages to wrench himself away from his lips, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his throat and jaw even as he asks:

“Have you done this before? With a man or a woman?” 

Phil hadn’t thought it possible for Clint to turn any redder but somehow he does.

“No,” he says, sounding out of breath and a little ashamed too, which makes Phil frown. The last thing he wants is to embarrass Clint or make him feel lacking in any way. “I know I’m old for such things, I–”

Phil cuts him off with a swift kiss – Clint doesn’t need to justify himself.

“I’m glad,” Phil tells him. Truthfully it doesn’t matter to him either way, but he can’t deny the thrill he feels at the knowledge that Clint’s untouched. That Phil will be the first – and the only one – to bring him such pleasure. 

Clint blinks at him, surprised, and ducks his head adorably. 

“May I undress you?” Phil asks, his need showing through in his voice, and Clint straightens.

“Only if I can undress you,” he says, some of his confidence returning, and Phil is glad to see it even as he agrees. 

He takes his time divesting Clint of his clothes. The sight it unveils is something to savour and he follows Clint’s blush down, baring his skin to Phil’s eyes. When Clint is finally naked before him, Phil has to pause and admire him even as he tries to rein in his turbulent thoughts. He wants nothing more than to push Clint down on his bed and cover his beautiful body with his own as they rut towards completion, but Clint deserves better than a mindless encounter. Besides, their deal is only half-way done, which Clint reminds him by taking a step forward and reaching for Phil’s buttons.

“My turn,” he states and Phil smiles.

Clint is thorough in his endeavour and it’s hard to stand still under his ministrations. Phil knows he isn’t trying to tease – he is probably not even aware of the effect he’s having on Phil, of what being the sole focus of his considerable attention is like – but that only makes it all the more arousing.

By the time Clint finishes undressing him, his fingers only fumbling a few times, they’re both hard and ready. Clint is staring at him frankly, and his response to Phil’s questioning “Should we move to the bed?” is to climb on top of the covers. And Phil… well Phil has to take a second to enjoy the sight. 

He’s had his fair share of trysts over the years, some of them with people he’d call friends, but the circumstances made them all rushed and vaguely unsatisfying – he had counted himself lucky when they had had a flat surface nearby and they had only ever bared the minimum amount of skin to achieve their goal. Now he’s got Clint, his husband, naked in his bed, looking endearingly eager and just a little bit nervous, and Phil’s never felt this strange mix of adoration and lust before.

He joins Clint and they face each other on their side, and Phil suddenly feels almost shy himself. The urgency from before seems to have vanished – or at least it has until he reaches out with one hand to touch Clint, drawing shapes on his face, throat and chest and then, as he scouts closer, his back. Clint mirrors his actions, mimicking him for a while before he gets bolder and starts exploring on his own.

Everything is easy after that. As their desire rises again, Phil tugs Clint closer to slot their bodies together and they pant in each other’s mouth as they rock and thrust and finally rut against each other. Clint’s fingers dig into his back and Phil grabs his ass to pull him closer still, swallowing Clint’s bitten-off whines as he gets closer and closer to his peak. He doesn’t relent until Clint goes rigid in his arms and Phil feels his release between them, only allowing himself a moment’s satisfaction before he wraps a hand around himself and follows. 

That night they sleep in Phil’s bed, Clint half-sprawled on top of him, and Phil distantly thinks he never wants to let this go.

 

Spring comes and with it the myriad of things they had had to postpone during the winter season. Phil spends his days with Melinda attending to it, and sometimes Clint joins them. Phil is drastically less efficient when his husband is around, and more than once Melinda rolls her eyes at them and declares Phil useless, shooing them away so she can get some work done, at least.

If their days are busy with other people, their nights are theirs alone. They spend them in Phil’s bed, exploring each other’s body as they learn what makes them whimper and gasp and come. At other times they just talk, Phil opening up about the war and Clint haltingly telling him about his own past. It suddenly makes a lot more sense to Phil why he had to leave Asgard: there is his brother, of course, but Clint’s unwitting betrayal of the Red Room while under Loki’s control had made him unwelcome with many of his old friends and colleagues despite Romanoff’s unwavering support. It also explains her initial determination that they marry: Phil may be retired but his name is still firmly associated with SHIELD, an additional protection against those Red Room operatives who may still hold ill will towards Clint and would be tempted to do something about it.

As he listens to what Clint chooses to share with him, Phil becomes increasingly aware of everything the other man had to go through to become the man he is today – and everything that could have gone dreadfully wrong – and he knows he’ll forever be grateful and proud that he gets to call that man his husband. He tells him as much one evening and Clint looks at him with wide eyes – Clint who, despite Phil’s reassurances, still hasn’t ceased to believe that what he confesses to Phil in those intimate moments will somehow affect Phil’s good opinion of him but who tells him anyway like the brave, foolish man he is.

“Nothing you tell me will ever change the fact that I love you,” Phil says and Clint looks so startled that it’s Phil’s turn to feel aghast.

“Clint, surely you know that I love you!”

Judging by his reaction, Clint did _not_ know and Phil curses himself for being a fool. He gathers Clint to him and repeats the sentiment between kisses until Clint stops looking so shaken and starts smiling again. He doesn’t reciprocate the feeling out loud but it doesn’t matter to Phil. They have all the time in the world.

But that newfound peace is soon shattered.

A letter from Natasha Romanoff arrives one morning at breakfast. Clint is smiling when he opens it but the mirth quickly dies from his face as he reads.

“What is it?” Phil says, alarmed, and Clint wordlessly hands him the letter. His brother, it says, has left his manor a week prior and has not been seen since. Romanoff assures Clint she will let him know if she gets any inkling as to his destination but in the meantime she urges them to take care in case he is making haste in their direction.

“Do you think he’s coming here?” Phil asks. It’s a fair question: it’s been close to eighteen months since the peace broke out and almost a year since Clint married him. Surely the man’s anger cannot still burn as bright as it once did, but then he doesn’t know Clint’s brother.

“I don’t know.”

“But do you think he intends to harm you?” Phil insists, his brain already going through the different ways he can ensure Clint’s safety.

“I don’t know!” Clint’s raised voice echoes in the sudden silence and he immediately deflates, rubbing a hand over his face roughly. “Sorry,” he says, his voice half-muffled, and Phil grasps his hand.

“Please don’t apologise. I know this must be difficult for you. I’m just… concerned.” That’s putting it mildly. “Will you tell me about him?”

Clint sighs and pushes his plate away. His brother has been the one topic he’s shied away from in the past but today he starts talking: 

“Mother died when we were young, a riding accident,” he says, a far-away look on his face. “Father… well, Father was not a nice man. I did my best to stay out of his way, and for the most part he was content to ignore us. It suited me better than the times when he paid attention to us, but not Barney. He had always striven for Father’s approval and when he didn’t get it he grew bitter and resentful. When the war broke out, I jumped at the chance to get out there.”

“How old were you?” Phil asks quietly and Clint shrugs with a wry smile.

“16. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Father actually approved. He bought me a commission and boasted to all his friends that I was off fighting for Asgard. As you can imagine, Barney didn’t take it well. He decided to join the army as well, thinking it would help. I tried to warn him the life wouldn’t suit him but he didn’t listen. He was jealous and he blamed me for everything, and it only got worse when Prince Loki ‘recruited’ me.”

He looks tired and Phil squeezes his hand in support. He knows about Loki’s mind-control and what it did to Clint.

“I was suddenly the favoured son, something I had never wanted and Barney knew it. I think that only made it worse. Then Father died and Barney realised he would never get what he had been after all those years. The peace and my support of it were the last straws. He threatened to kill me for dishonouring Father’s memory and couldn’t be reasoned with. I thought it wise to leave Asgard after that.”

“And Romanoff led you to me.”

Clint smiles a little but it’s tinged with sadness and Phil can tell the rift with his brother still pains him. 

“She did. And I’ll be forever grateful to her for that.”

Phil feels himself flush and brings Clint’s hand to his lips to press a brief kiss there.

“I’ll get the word out to Melinda and Ward,” Phil says. “Have people keep an eye out for strangers.”

“I can take care of myself,” Clint reminds him.

“I know.” He does, really. But he also knows that harming his brother – even in self-defence – would hurt Clint too, and Phil wants to spare him the pain if he can.

The word spreads through the entire household rapidly. Tensions are high and Clint and Phil are similarly affected. That night they roll around the bed, kissing and bucking into each other as they battle for dominance until Phil pins Clint under him. 

He’s sitting on Clint’s thighs and scouts a little higher so he can grind his ass against Clint’s very interested cock. Clint gasps, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, and Phil lets go of his wrists to cup Clint’s face as he bends down to kiss him. All the tension seems to leave Clint’s body at that, his arms coming up to wrap around Phil’s back, and he opens his mouth for Phil to plunder. His surrender makes Phil groan and he reaches for the oil he keeps in his bedside table.

Clint’s eyes go wide at the sight – it’s the first time Phil has brought it out and from the slight nervousness in Clint’s face, he can easily imagine what he is thinking. However that is not what Phil has in mind for tonight.

“I would have you inside me,” he tells him and Clint’s eyes widen even further.

“Yes, _please_ ,” he stammers and Phil wastes no time in uncorking the vial and coating his own fingers before he reaches back to prepare himself.

“What… Oh.” Clint flushes a dark red when he realises what Phil is doing and there is something endearing about the innocence on display.

Phil opens himself and is probably too quick about it – he would certainly take more care if it was Clint he was doing this to, but then Phil is no virgin and the way Clint pants and watches him is making him impatient. So he pulls his fingers out and gets more oil for Clint’s cock, smiling breathlessly as it makes him buck into his hand. Then he positions him at his entrance and slowly lowers himself.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Clint says softly, again and again. He appears to be holding himself still by sheer force of will and Phil is glad for that at least. It’s been years since he’s done anything of the sort and Clint feels thick and glorious.

When he finally has all of him inside, Phil pauses to give himself time to grow accustomed to the fullness again and looks down at his husband. Clint’s eyes are screwed shut and he’s gripping a handful of bed sheets in each hand, his knuckles white from the strain, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Phil clenches around him and Clint whimpers, biting his lips to stop the sound, and Phil wants more.

“Look at me,” he says – orders – and Clint blinks, his gaze unfocused at first before it finds Phil. “There you are. You’re so beautiful like this.”

Clint stares up at him with such adoration that hits Phil straight in the heart. He suddenly has to move and he rocks up and down, barely lifting himself up at first as he allows himself to simply feel and enjoy the sensation of Clint’s cock spreading him open. It feels good, so good, but eventually he needs to go faster and he braces his hands on Clint’s chest for better leverage as he tries to–

He calls out wordlessly as he finds just the right angle, his need growing greater with each stroke inside of him. He starts impaling himself with abandon, his head thrown back as he moans and takes his pleasure on Clint’s cock. Clint says his name and Phil is almost there – _almost_ –, he just needs that extra push and so he guides one of Clint’s hands to his cock, groaning as he complies and finally, _finally_ , Phil’s vision whites out and he spends himself over Clint.

His entire body goes lax once he’s finished and he slumps a little over Clint, feeling lazy and smug and very satisfied. But Clint hasn’t come yet, his cock still a solid weight inside him and tension present in every line of his body.

“I want– I think I need to– _please_ ,” he babbles and Phil tightens around him.

“Anything,” he promises and Clint surges up and flips them over. 

Phil lands flat on his back, the sudden movement causing Clint’s cock to slip out and leaving him bereft, but then Clint’s here again, covering him with his body as he fumbles between them. Phil takes over and guides him back inside him, groaning at the initial push. Clint has been on the edge for too long and it shows: he is relentless, all need and no finesse as he thrusts into Phil over and over again like he can’t help himself. He finds Phil’s mouth and kisses him messily until even that seems to become too much for him. Then he just rests his forehead against Phil’s collarbone, whimpering at each roll of his hips that drive his cock as deep as it’ll go, and Phil cradles him close and whispers encouragements in his ear.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Phil says in his ear, wishing he were younger so he could get hard again and come just from this. “Find your pleasure inside me.”

“Phil…”

“Anything you need, take it, it’s yours.”

Clint lets out a harsh sob, his hands moving from Phil’s hips to go under him and grasp his ass blindly as his thrusts get more frantic. He gives himself up to the pleasure of being inside someone for the first time completely and it doesn’t take long after that, just a few more thrusts that make Phil groan and tighten around him. Then Clint tenses all over, his back going taut and his fingers digging hard into Phil’s ass. He makes a broken sound and his hips jerk once, twice, as he empties himself inside Phil. Then he collapses on top of Phil, his breathing so harsh it almost sounds like he is sobbing, and Phil cradles him close and doesn’t let go.

He is expecting them to have more time after that, but on the next market day as they walk arm in arm from stall to stall, he feels Clint go rigid next to him.

“What is it?” Phil asks quietly.

“My brother is here.”

“Where?” He tries to follow Clint’s gaze through the crowd and beyond, but he can’t find anything amiss.

Clint shakes his head, some of the tension vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “He’s gone now. But maybe we should go home.”

Phil nods and the two of them head back to their horses. Phil keeps a close eye on their surroundings on the way home and he knows Clint does the same, and the two of them only relax once they’re safely indoors again. 

That evening Clint tells him he loves him for the first time. It both angers and saddens Phil that Clint would do it now. It sounds too much like he is saying goodbye and Phil won’t have any of it. Clint is not going anywhere and he tells him so as he fucks himself on Clint’s cock, riding him hard until Clint comes with a rare cry. There is an edge of desperation to the encounter that leaves them both vaguely unsatisfied and Phil wraps himself around Clint afterwards, holding on for dear life.

The next days are tense, the situation keeping everyone on edge. There has been no new sighting of Clint’s brother and the searches Ward organised have come up empty. Tempers are getting frayed and Phil isn’t sure how long they can go on like this before something has to give, and he’s seriously considering asking SHIELD – or the Black Widow – for assistance when something does just that.

Clint gets a letter one morning and two hours later he vanishes.

Phil can’t say he is surprised: he’s detected in Clint a self-sacrificing streak to match his own and if his brother threatened to harm Phil or anyone else, he can very well imagine Clint going to him of his own free will. Phil will be angry at him for it later. For now he is not inclined to simply accept it and hope for the best, and so he is in the middle of organising another search party, fully intent on bringing Clint home, when someone clears his throat behind him.

“My Lord?” 

When Phil turns he recognises Gregory, one of the footmen. “What is it?” he asks, unable to keep his temper completely out of his voice.

“Mr Barton wanted me to give you this.” Gregory hands him a letter and beats a hasty retreat, and for one horrible heartbeat Phil thinks this is Clint’s farewell to him. He almost balks at reading it but then he realises it can’t be it: this letter’s seal has already been broken. Phil opens it hurriedly, scanning the words in the unfamiliar handwriting, and feels almost lightheaded with relief.

It’s the letter Clint received this morning, with the time and place of his meeting with his brother. It says to come alone and it does threaten Phil and everyone else in the house, but it also says to burn the letter and Phil is glad Clint chose another way. Oh, he will still give him a piece of his mind when he finds him for not coming to him in the first place and for taking off like that and scaring Phil half to death, but at least they have a destination now.

Phil gathers his search party and gives short and precise orders. Those aren’t SHIELD agents he is leading and only a few have military training, the vast majority having volunteered solely out of concern for Clint’s safety. Maybe it is unwise to allow them to come but Phil finds he can’t deny them. Besides, if all goes well they won’t need to do anything.

The plan is simple: they’ll get to the rendezvous point, stay out of sight while they form a loose net around it to prevent Clint’s brother from escaping and then move in together when Phil gives the signal. Time is of the essence, the meeting already underway, although Phil is betting on the fact that Lord Barton will have plenty to say before he even considers harming Clint. He knows the sort and they like to talk.

The first part of the plan goes well enough, and Phil carefully creeps closer to appraise the situation. He stays low, with one hand on his pistol, and prays he won’t stumble across Clint’s dead body, his brother long gone. Raised voices are almost welcomed at that point and he finds the two men at a standstill, both with their bow drawn and pointed at the other. His heart misses a beat at the sight but it turns out he was right after all: Clint’s brother does like to talk and is currently ranting about their father and Clint’s perceived betrayal. 

Phil tries to will Clint to stay quiet and not antagonise him further, to give him the time to retreat and give the signal to his men, but it is not in Clint’s nature to lay low.

“Father was a drunk and a bully,” he snarls. “His good opinion means nothing to me.”

That only enrages his brother further and Phil can tell he is reaching the end of his rope. He can’t pull back now, he realises, not when it means leaving Clint’s back unprotected. Really, there is only one thing he _can_ do.

“Clint!” he calls out and the brother pivots towards the sound, his bow no longer aimed at Clint’s exposed chest but pointed right at Phil instead. 

Everything goes very fast after that.

Phil doesn’t actually expect him to release his arrow and that is his mistake. He throws himself down at the same time as Barton lets go and in the next second so does Clint. Barton follows Phil down with a cry of pain, and for a second nothing and no one moves, Clint the only one left standing. Then Clint is running to Phil, dropping to his knees next to him.

“Are you alright? _Are you alright_?” Clint asks frantically.

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” Phil says over him but Clint doesn’t listen, his hands moving over Phil to check for injuries. There is none to be found, Barton’s arrow missed and the only thing that is hurt is Phil’s pride, but he humours Clint and lets him do as he pleases before stilling his hands with his own.

“I’m fine,” he says again and Clint seems to deflate against him, slumping a little. 

“That was a ridiculous thing to do.”

Phil smiles wryly. “You’re one to talk,” he points out and Clint shrugs just as Phil’s party bursts into the clearing. 

“Are you alright?” Skye asks worryingly and they both nod, although Clint’s brother is making pathetic sounds where he’s lying. He tries to crawl away but Simmons stops his progress by hitting him with a branch. Hard. 

“Jemma!” Fitz gasps. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? He was trying to escape.”

Ward rolls his eyes at their antics and walks over to take custody of Lord Barton, who still has an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

“We’ll send word for the magistrate,” Melinda says and Phil nods, accepting Clint’s hand to haul himself up.

They let the others precede them and Phil takes Clint’s arm, squeezing it lightly.

“I wish it didn’t have to come to this,” he tells him quietly. Regardless of their differences, he knows shooting his brother must have been hard on Clint.

“He was aiming at you,” Clint says and the coldness in his eyes makes Phil’s breath catch in his throat. “He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”

He blinks and suddenly he isn’t Hawkeye anymore, just Clint, looking worn and weary. Phil wraps his arms around him and pulls him against his chest, letting Clint cling to him as much as he wants to.

“You scared me,” he says softly and Clint makes a watery sound.

“So did you, yelling my name like that. You almost got shot.”

Phil smiles against Clint’s hair. “I promise I won’t do it again if you don’t either.”

“Deal.”

Clint kisses him, lingering a little, and they walk back to the manor hand in hand.

In the days that follow, the mood is much lighter. Clint is safe, the threat against him dealt with, and people are smiling more, the weight that seemed to be pulling them down just last week gone and forgotten. It’s a relief to see Lord Barton carted off to jail – Phil isn’t entirely sure whether he’ll be judged here or in Asgard but he intends to keep a close eye on the proceedings. He doesn’t doubt Romanoff – and Fury too, no doubt – will as well and that thought makes him feel better.

The one-year anniversary of his and Clint’s wedding is coming up and while Phil isn’t usually one for sentimentality, the general atmosphere is making him want to mark the occasion. Their wedding day had hardly been a joyful one and it only seems right to celebrate the fact that they have found happiness with each other regardless.

He mentions it to Clint, who agrees readily, and they quickly enrol Melinda and all the senior staff in the planning. Invitations are sent to their closest friends who they know won’t mind an informal affair – it’ll be early in the summer and they will no doubt be more than happy to escape the stifling heat of the city for a few days – and of course a ball must be had, which means more planning.

Their guests start trickling in a few days before the big event. Clint disappears with Romanoff – Natasha now, she insists – for a few hours and Phil finds himself making small talk with a man who introduces himself as James Barnes but whom Phil recognises as the Winter Soldier. There is something vaguely surreal about discussing Barnes’s childhood in Midgard and how he finds Asgard, but then Phil had once made a living of being unflappable and it serves him well now, both with Barnes and when Lady Potts arrives with that unfortunate husband of hers in tow. Phil loves Pepper dearly but he will never understand what she sees in Stark. He doesn’t think he wants to either.

The contingent from SHIELD arrives the next day and Phil is glad to finally introduce his husband to Jasper and Maria since he’s already met Nick. He’s surprised to see Captain Rogers with them – they had become good friends when they had fought together during the war but Phil didn’t know Rogers had since joined SHIELD –, but not as surprised as Barnes who recognises Rogers as his boyhood friend. The two had lost touch when the war broke out and they quickly reconnect, never to be found far from one another, their heads bent close together.

On the day of the ball, Phil leads their guests to a tour of the grounds, Clint electing to stay behind. Phil knows he hasn’t had much time to use his bow since their guests arrived and he’s happy to give Clint the opportunity to unwind – judging by Clint’s grateful smile, he needs it dearly.

The weather, however, is not on their side. They’ve been walking for less than thirty minutes when lightning crackles above their heads and in the next breath the skies open, pouring water down on them. There are a few shrieks and bouts of laughter as they’re all soaked within seconds, and they hurry back to the house as quickly as possible.

Phil sees to his friends before he heads back to his own room for some dry clothes, yanking his clinging shirt off as soon as he walks through the door. He’s thinking about Clint, hoping he isn’t still out there in the downpour, when a whimper comes from the adjoining room. Phil pauses, thinking he may have misheard, but then it comes again and Phil is at the door in seconds.

“Clint? Are you alright?” he asks. 

There is no answer, and Phil worries that maybe he slipped in the mud and hurt himself.

“I’m coming in,” he says and Clint’s “No, _don’t_ ” comes too late to stop him from opening the door and taking a first step inside Clint’s bedroom.

He freezes at the sight that awaits him.

Clint obviously got caught in the rain as well: his hair is still wet, sticking in every direction from his attempts to dry it, and his clothes are forming a puddle on the floor, but that is not what arrests him. What does is that Clint is naked, lying on his back in the middle of his bed with his legs bent close to his chest. One of his hands is gripping his knee and the other, oh, the other is between Clint’s legs, where he has two fingers buried in the most intimate part of himself.

Phil belatedly realises that he’s staring and forcefully tears his eyes away. It’s not enough, of course: propriety demands that he turns around and leaves. He and Clint may find joy in each other’s body most nights of the week but that doesn’t entitle him to all of Clint’s pleasure. Clint has never mentioned any interest in being penetrated when he is with Phil, but if he wishes to touch himself in such a way when he is alone and not include Phil, then that is his right. Phil is happy with the way things are: he loves the feeling of his husband’s cock inside him and if he sometimes has dirty fantasies about bending Clint over whatever flat surface his mind conjures for him at the time and driving his cock into him over and over until Clint is screaming with pleasure, well, that doesn’t make what they already have any less rewarding.

What Phil certainly should _not_ be doing is walk further into the room, and yet that’s what he finds himself doing. 

Clint appears to be completely frozen, not having said a word or moved since Phil first opened the door other than to hide his face away from Phil. He is a beautiful sight, open and flushed and sweaty, and Phil wants him so much he can’t breathe. He wants to kneel between his thighs and drive into him, show him how good it can be, but most of all he wants to ask Clint if this is something he wants and why he didn’t come to Phil for it. He needs to know if there is something he did wrong, something he can fix. So he ignores his erection and sits on the bed, putting a gentle hand on Clint’s chin so he will meet his eyes again. 

“I can leave if you want,” he says because Clint looks more vulnerable than he’s ever seen him and he doesn’t want to make things worse. “But I would like to talk.”

“I’m sorry –”

“No, please, don’t apologise,” Phil starts to say but a dam seems to have broken inside Clint because he just talks over him, the words rushing out:

“– you never showed any interest and I thought maybe it was because I didn’t have any experience, so I’ve been trying…” he trails off but Phil understands his meaning well enough, and he has to swallow a groan at the thought of his husband fingering himself for him. 

The fact that Clint has apparently forgotten he still has two fingers inside him is a little distracting, but Phil soldiers on: “Why didn’t you just ask?”

“I didn’t know how,” Clint confesses, looking away again. 

And Phil, well, Phil understands that too. Clint rarely asks for anything, and certainly not for himself. It never fails to make Phil want to give him the world and this time is no exception.

“Do you want to?” he asks, trying to keep his own desire out of his voice – this is about Clint, not him.

“Now?” Clint looks a little scandalised at the thought of sex in the middle of the afternoon, and while Phil will admit there is something a little decadent about it, especially when they have guests staying on the other side of the house, the only thing that matters is Clint.

“If you want.”

Clint nods quickly and Phil kisses him before pulling away so he can finish undressing. He does hurriedly, with none of his usual care, and grabs the oil from where Clint had left it on the nightstand before making his way back to the bed and kneeling between Clint’s legs. He still hasn’t moved his hand and Phil can’t resist running his thumb over the rim where it’s stretched by Clint’s fingers, making him gasp.

“Take them out,” Phil instructs and Clint does so quickly, his hand coming up to grip his other knee for better leverage. It also keeps his legs wide open, presenting Phil with a ready target, and he’s so overcome by the sight that he almost spills oil everywhere in his haste. 

Phil pauses and takes a deep breath, calling for his hard-earned control before he drenches his fingers in oil. Then he wastes no time in plunging two of his own back into Clint, driving a rough moan from the man. Clint is hot around his fingers, slick from the oil and so tight, and Phil groans, knowing he will soon experience that feeling around his cock.

He takes his time despite his rising need, wanting to make sure Clint is ready to receive him. He doesn’t stop until he can push three fingers deep into Clint and spread them wide without causing him any discomfort. Only then does he pull them out, getting more oil for his cock and rubbing a soothing hand over Clint’s leg.

“Ready?” he asks, and at Clint’s nod, he takes himself in hand and guides his cock to Clint’s entrance.

Clint makes a broken sound as Phil pushes inside for the first time, and Phil has to close his eyes to hold on to his tenuous control. He’s deflowering his husband and it’s taking everything he’s got not to simply thrust and bury himself deep, so he’ll finally feel Clint’s flesh fluttering around him. But that won’t do at all, and so instead Phil forces himself to go slow, listening to the changes in Clint’s breathing for hints that he is overwhelming him or hurting him in any way. 

By the time he’s as deep as he can go and blinks his eyes open again, Clint is shaking under him, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Phil asks, suddenly concerned that something is wrong.

Clint licks his lips and swallows hard. “I didn’t think it would be this way,” he says, a solitary tear escaping to make its way down his cheek before Phil kisses it away.

“Tell me.”

“It just… It feels so full… safe. Owned.” The latter is barely a whisper and it sends a dark surge of possessiveness through Phil. Outside this bed he would never dream of trying to diminish Clint’s hard-won independence, but here and now, the words make Phil want things he shouldn’t.

He tries to ignore it, of course, focusing on coaxing Clint to wrap his legs around his back and groaning as that allows him to slide just a little bit deeper.

“I’ll go slowly,” he tells him and Clint looks at him with such sweet trust that Phil has to kiss him even as he starts to move.

He does go slowly, keeping the rolls of his hips firm and steady as Clint whines and moans under him, a far cry from his usual restraint. Clint is usually quiet during sex, small gasps and whimpers – or even Phil’s name – escaping him seemingly despite himself, but he’s loud now, and Phil can feel his own control slipping.

The slaps of his hips grow faster, more forceful. He tries to slow down and finds that he can’t, not when Clint’s body is taking him so well and Clint himself is pleading for more, his cries of shocked pleasure spurring Phil on and bringing him to new frenzied heights. His mind is an incoherent string of _‘mine, mine, mine’_ as he imagines laying his claim on the man with each thrust, and he doesn’t realise he is saying so out loud until Clint agrees with him, a breathless _“Yes, yes, yours”_ that makes Phil’s blood boil. He loses himself completely then, overtaken by a lust that he’s never felt before. He pounds into Clint, frantically chasing after his own pleasure while Clint pushes back against him just as desperately, his hands clutching at Phil’s back, and Phil never wants this to stop.

But it has to, of course, and he gets a second to appreciate what Clint looks like when he comes on Phil’s cock for the first time, wailing his pleasure for the world to hear, and then his own orgasm slams through him, brought along by the feeling of Clint’s body clenching around him.

Later, when they’ve both caught their breath and Phil’s pulled out to a tiny whine from Clint, he feels a little ashamed.

“I must apologise,” he says and Clint blinks at him, puzzled.

“For what?”

“Losing control as I did.” He didn’t mean to be so rough, not for Clint’s first time, and the thought that he may have inadvertently hurt him in his rut is unbearable. 

But Clint blushes. “I liked it,” he confesses and Phil is relieved. He still checks him over quickly but there is nothing alarming, and so he allows Clint to drag him back to the bed to lay down beside him.

It’s early still, the ball hours away, and Phil sees no harm in curling up behind Clint and closing his eyes for a moment. 

He doesn’t intend to sleep but when he next opens his eyes he can tell from the light in the room that hours have passed. In the distance a clock chimes the hour, telling him they still have a couple of hours, and while duty should demand he gets up and checks that everything is ready, he finds that he’d rather stay right where he is, spooned along Clint’s back with his hardening cock nestled against his ass. As if sensing he is awake, Clint arches against him and Phil nuzzles the back of his neck, one hand reaching out to stroke Clint’s half-hard cock lazily.

“What do you want?” Phil asks. His voice is still scratchy from sleep and he presses kisses on Clint’s shoulder, his throat and finally his mouth when Clint turns his head towards him, making his question moot for a moment or two until they separate and Clint can finally answer.

“You. I want– Take me again,” Clint says, breathless with excitement, and Phil feels a surge of lust at the words. 

“Yes?”

Clint nods, a blush making its way down his throat, and Phil wonders how long he’s been lying there, waiting for Phil to wake up so he could make this very demand – what images his mind conjured while he did. He will have to inquire about it later, once they’re free of their guests and have more time to explore his answers.

“Are you sure?” he asks, letting his fingers trail against Clint’s entrance. “You’re not too sore?” 

Clint squirms a little. “I don’t think so?” he says, sounding uncertain, and Phil nods. Of course he wouldn’t know, he has no frame of reference. But he _is_ asking so he must be feeling alright.

“Tell me if it becomes too much,” Phil instructs him anyway and reaches for the oil again.

He coats himself thoroughly and gives them what they both want. Clint’s body yields beautifully, and Phil buries himself deep with one smooth push, drawing a groan from the other man. His thrusts are languid at first as he shakes off the last remainders of sleep, but this is still so new between them that the same sense of urgency as before soon starts to build. Soon, Phil promises himself, he will show Clint that they can take their time from start to finish – but not today.

“Not enough, I need, _more_ –” Clint is saying, grinding back desperately against Phil. He can’t seem to articulate what it is he wants but Phil can guess. 

“Okay, okay, just let me…” he pants and rolls Clint onto his stomach, pushing himself onto his elbows and bracing his knees so he can pound into the willing body beneath his. Clint’s cries are barely muffled by the pillow and Phil presses blind kisses to his shoulders and back, grunting in exertion in time with the loud slaps of his hips against Clint’s ass.

“You feel so good, so good, all mine,” he keeps saying breathlessly, the words mingling with other endearments he will blush at remembering later, but Clint’s body clenches down on his cock every time he praises him and so Phil doesn’t try to censor himself. He doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to.

Clint comes quickly, almost unexpectedly, keening his release as Phil fucks him through it, drawing out his pleasure until Clint is a whimpering, quivering mess. He isn’t surprised to find that Clint’s too sensitive for Phil to finish inside of him afterwards, and he pulls out at the first pained noise out of his mouth – which Clint tries to hide, and they’ll need to have words about that later. He doesn’t go far and covers Clint’s body with his own again, but this time he thrusts between his legs, again and again until he reaches his peak with a hoarse shout. He forgets himself when he does, biting down high on the back of Clint’s neck and startling a cry out of him. He doesn’t break the skin but finds himself apologising yet again when he comes back to his senses until Clint cuts him off with a laugh.

“I enjoy you like this,” Clint reminds him and Phil lets himself be pulled into a kiss before he draws back.

“We should wash,” he says reluctantly. 

Clint looks down at himself and wrinkles his nose. “We should, shouldn’t we?”

By the time they make their way down to their guests, they’ve managed to make themselves presentable but for the mark on Clint’s neck, still red and clearly visible above his collar. All but their closest friends politely ignore it. Proprieties have never stopped Nick, however, which he proves when he sidles up to Phil.

“What happened to not bedding your husband?” he teases. 

Phil doesn’t dignify that with an answer, watching Clint dance with Natasha – who, judging by the mortified look on Clint’s face, has chosen a similar topic.

“I’m glad it all worked out,” Nick says, suddenly serious, and Phil smiles faintly. 

“Me too.”

The music changes and Clint bows to Natasha before turning towards Phil, extending a hand and an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Excuse me, I have to dance with my husband,” Phil says, his smile widening, and it’s Nick’s turn to roll his eyes, not that Phil spares him another glance: he is already taking Natasha’s place, grasping Clint’s hand and pulling him closer.

“Many happy returns,” he whispers in Clint’s ear and his husband smiles.

“Together.”

It starts with a dance.


End file.
